


Missed You By a Few Minutes, a Few Centuries

by just_another_tinker



Series: Missed You [1]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, BAMF Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, BAMF Nile Freeman, Canon-Typical Violence, Depression, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Historical References, Hurt/Comfort, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani Needs a Hug, Loneliness, Love Confessions, M/M, Miscommunication, Nicky | Nicolò di Genova Needs a Hug, Post-Canon, Secrets, Suicidal Thoughts, Team as Family, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:21:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 115,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25600531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_another_tinker/pseuds/just_another_tinker
Summary: Nicolò di Genova was killed on one of the endless mornings of The Crusades, struck down by a scimitar. He woke again later that evening.Yusuf al-Kaysani bled out hours later from wounds left by a sword. He woke again that next morning.A person often meets his destiny on the road he chose to avoid it.Alternatively, Nicky and Joe's second meeting was over 900 years too late. And neither one knows the other is immortal, or that they've already met.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia & Quynh | Noriko, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Missed You [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2092872
Comments: 663
Kudos: 1764





	1. Chapter 1

The car ride was silent, and Nile pressed her face harder against the window glass, wishing to be anywhere but there. She was more exhausted than she’d even been before, her body feeling like it was still recovering from the multiple gunshot wounds she’d accumulated and her tumble out of Merrick’s penthouse just earlier that day. She seemed to have been going since Andy had found her in Afghanistan, moving from one dumpster fire to another; now, finally sitting in a moment of calm, Nile felt every second that had passed weigh down on her like a ton of bricks. Being dead seemed like a luxury right now, if only to escape the crushing weariness that she was currently wearing.

When Joe and Booker had pulled her from that car, Andy not that far behind, they had tugged her quickly down an alleyway, the job not even close to being done. Joe had jumped a nearby car, and they’d piled in, tearing away from the scene of the crime, away from any more prying eyes that would figure out who they were.

There was no discussion of Merrick, or Booker for that matter. They weren't in the clear yet, so it would no doubt be tabled until at least they didn’t look like an ensemble of a horror flick. It was reminiscent of how they’d acted as they cleared Merrick’s lab. Even with everything that had blown up in their face – Joe’s kidnapping, Booker’s betrayal, Andy’s newfound mortality – they’d moved as flawlessly as her military unit, each one the extension of the other, no questions needing to be asked.

They had stopped briefly, at some place that must have belonged to one of the three of them. They didn’t stay, Booker jogging inside for just a few minutes, reappearing with his hands bundled with clothes and a travel bag.

Joe had the car moving again before Booker had even closed the door. Nile had questioned why they hadn’t stayed, but Joe had replied that it wasn’t safe for them to stay at one of their places. The unspoken comment of it not being safe because of what Booker may have told Copley hung heavily in the air. Nile could see the partially opened bag Booker had grabbed was full of cash, booklets that she guessed to be passports, and she assumed whatever else they deemed necessary in an emergency go bag. The clothes were distributed; just new shirts to wear over their old ones, at least to cover the multiple blood stains that littered their bodies.

Where Joe was taking them, she didn’t ask – if none of their hideouts were safe from Copley, what was? Another wave of exhaustion slid over her. She knew that they hadn’t been in the car for that long, but traffic in London was slow, slower now that the disaster at Merrick’s had hit the public. Each minute crawled by, as slowly as they inched forward on the road. Immortality was going to really blow if she couldn’t handle a simple car ride.

She closed his eyes again, trying to quiet her raging thoughts. She must have drifted off, because the next thing she knew, Booker was shaking her shoulder gently.

“Nile, wake up,” he said, voice hoarse. “We’re here, I think.”

She looked out the window again. The car was stopped, parked in front of a neat row of apartment complexes. They must be just outside London; she could see the skyline in the distance, but the sound of emergency vehicles and honking cars had gone.

Joe had stepped out and moved around the stolen car, helping Andy out the other side. The man looked around the neighborhood, looking for any sign of danger. Nile found herself doing the same; from what she could tell, they were safe. Wherever they were, anyway.

“Come on, it’s just in here,” Joe said, arm wrapped around Andy as he led her to one of the complex doors. He typed in a 4-digit code on the keypad and the door opened, letting the group inside. As they piled into the elevator and Joe hit the eighth floor, Nile again wanted to ask where they were going. Was this Joe’s place, that the others didn’t know about? Her initial impressions of the group made her think that they told each other everything. Nile looked at Booker, the man gazing up at the elevator’s ceiling as if waiting for God’s judgment. _Not everything,_ she corrected. 

The elevator dinged quietly, but to her it was like a gunshot, and Nile startled. She felt a hand run down her arm – Joe’s – as if to say, _‘it’s alright, I’m here’._ He walked out and led them down the dimly lit hallway. Nile could hear faint sounds of other tenets moving around their own apartments, and Nile prayed that no one would open their door and see them.

Near the end of the hall, Joe stopped in front of one of the doors, sighing softly. Nile thought he’d reach into his pocket, or even the bag to pull out a set of keys, but he didn’t. To Nile’s surprise, he just knocked firmly on the door, whispering, “please be home,” under his breath.

There was a moment of stillness as the four of them waited to see if the door would open. If this place wasn’t Joe’s, then who’s was it?

Nile wasn’t exactly sure who she was expecting to open the door, but it certainly wasn’t who did. He had dark hair that was rumpled, disorderly in a way that made Nile think they had woken him up, but his eyes, a color that she couldn’t quite name, were piercing and alert. He was dressed casually and his body loose, but Nile saw the way his hand curled around the door tightly, as if expecting a fight. At first, his face was hard and stony, much like the Grecian statues she’d stared at in Chicago’s museums. The only tell was a slight thinning of his lips, giving a slight air of contention – no doubt for being bothered at this hour.

But it was gone in almost an instant. As soon as the man saw Joe the marble cracked, and Nile swore his eyes changed shades in just a blink, the grimace curling into a surprised smile, making him look years younger. “Joe?” he asked, voice quiet, but full of emotion. Like the air right before a storm hit. Calm, but surrounded by insurmountable energy, waiting just above the surface of the clouds.

Joe grinned with a laugh, practically jumping forward to bundle the other man in his arms. Though his response was muffled from resting his face in the junction of the man’s neck, his tone was excitable, in a way that it hadn’t been since she’d met him in France. As if the past few days hadn’t happened at all. The other man wrapped his arms around Joe immediately, eyes fluttering shut, falling into an embrace that looked practiced and familiar, the two slotting into each other perfectly.

The man opened his eyes again and peered over Joe’s shoulder, Nile catching his smile growing. “Andy,” he said, with the same reverence as he’d said Joe’s. “Booker. And—,” he paused, looking directly at Nile. The piercing gaze made her want to look at anywhere else, but she couldn’t, caught like a fly in a web. It was like staring into a kaleidoscope. “Friend,” he added, as if coming to the conclusion himself.

“Nicky,” Andy replied, just as fondly. “It’s good to see you. You look great.”

The man – Nicky – hummed, finally pulling away from Joe, but only just. “What are you doing here? I thought that you were in—,” he broke off suddenly, eyes zeroing in on Joe’s collar. Dried blood was still caked into his skin.

 _“Dio,”_ he whispered, yanking at Joe’s collar before looking at the rest of them, those eyes bouncing between them. The change of clothes definitely helped, but Nile knew they all looked like train wrecks. There was still probably glass in her hair. “Inside,” Nicky snapped, tugging Joe into the room, his other hand gesturing to the others.

Nile shuffled in quickly, Andy and Booker on either side, catching Nicky step behind them and look out the door, as if searching for the same threats Joe was, before shutting it quickly, sliding the deadbolt into place. He flitted back around the group as quickly as a hummingbird, his hands reaching back over to Joe’s neck. “Let me see,” he snapped, his tone turning darker; the thunder rumbling.

“It’s fine, I’m fine,” Joe answered. “It’s not mine.” Nile knew that was a lie.

Nicky frowned, seemingly on the same page as Nile. “What happened?” he asked instead, as if he knew arguing with Joe would get him nowhere.

“Job,” Andy answered simply. “Didn’t go as planned.” Nile wanted to laugh. _Understatement of the fucking year._

“Do they ever?” Nicky asked, arms crossed. “Let me get my kit and I’ll take a look at all of you. Sit, please, and tell me—”

“Nicky,” Andy interrupted, stopping the man from heading down the hallway. “You remember Cologne, in ’18?”

Nicky nodded gravely. “Sì,” he said.

“I believe you owe me a favor,” Andy continued. “I’m cashing it in. No questions. Not this time.”

Nicky stared at her, unblinking. Nile could almost see the gears whirring, the man having an entire conversation with himself, but his eyes never changed their gaze. It reminded her of that book she had to read in high school, _The Great Gatsby._ Those all-knowing eyes on that billboard that loomed over the town, always watching.

“You’ve been holding that over my head for years, and you’re going to waste it now?” the man asked, tilting his head in question slightly.

“Yes,” Andy replied, her tone firm, leaving no room for argument.

“What happened in Cologne in ’18?” Nile couldn’t help but ask. “Or wait, do you need to specify the century? What are we talking about, the 16th?”

“The 21st?” Nicky replied slowly, eyeing her warily. “Are you sure you’re alright? Should I call a doctor?”

“No!” answered Andy, far too quickly and too loudly. “She’s joking. Kids these days, right?”

Nile eyed Andy suspiciously, but didn’t comment further, feeling the heat of Andy’s glare back at her. She opted to smile politely at Nicky, the man still looking at her quizzically.

Then he smiled in return. “I know. With each year, I feel like I know less and less of what the younger generation is talking about.”

“I’m not a child,” Nile replied, except it came out more like a whine, as if proving their point.

“Read the room, kid,” Joe chuckled. “You’re practically an infant. That being said, this infant,” he continued, pointing to her, “is Nile. Nile, this is Nicolò.”

The man smiled warmly and held out a hand for her to shake. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Nile,” he said kindly. “You can call me Nicky.”

“Nicky,” she repeated, shaking his hand. His grip was strong and sure, much like the one’s of her commanding officers. She tightened her own hand experimentally, but Nicky only smiled in response, not bothering to reflect the gesture. Having been in the military, it had become commonplace for her to squeeze a handshake tightly, a silent message to the male dominated profession that screamed ‘I don’t have a dick, but I have as every right to be here as you.’ Usually it was met with men just squeezing her hand harder, as if to prove her wrong, and that they were stronger than her. She’d never flinched. Nicky, surprisingly, didn’t take the bait, happy to let her assert her dominance. “Thank you taking us in, I guess.”

“Ah, finally,” Nicky answered with a sigh, his accented words soothing, with a cadence that reminded her of a babbling brook. “Someone with manners.”

Nile couldn’t help but laugh, not just at the comment, but also at Joe’s undignified squawk. “How dare you, I am a man of decorum.”

Nicky hummed, eyeing Joe with an unimpressed look. “So you say,” he replied. Before Joe could argue any more Nicky looked back at Andy thoughtfully. No doubt he was thinking about the favor he owed her from Cologne. They all clearly knew him from before – and that satisfied Nile enough to think that they were momentarily safe from harm – but she still didn’t know this man. If he were anything like Nile, he wouldn’t be satisfied with Andy’s half ass responses.

“Well, then,” Nicky continued, nodding a final time at Andy. “Right, no questions.” Nile blanched, gaping at the other man. “The bathroom is down the hall to the right. There should be enough towels for everyone to shower. I’ll get you all some extra clothes to change into and get some food together.” Nicky paused, before adding, “the guns are in the safe. Will we be needing them?”

“I don’t think so,” Andy said. “Thanks, Nicky.”

Nicky nodded. “I’ll go get some clothes,” he said again, trailing down the hallway, Joe jogging after him, the man speaking to him in rapid-fire Italian. Booker slumped onto the nearest couch, a silent sign to let Andy and Nile shower first.

The apartment was small; Nicky no doubt lived alone. They stood in a living room with mismatched furniture surrounded an old television. There was no art on the walls, or anything that really seemed somewhat personal. The only evidence of someone living there were books that were scattered about the room, spines curled and worn that suggested loving and repeated use.

The sitting room connected into an even smaller kitchen, utilities on one side, a table and chairs crammed on the other. In between the rooms was a hallway, leading back to what Nile assumed was the bedroom and bathroom. Close quarters for all of them, but it wasn’t like she hadn’t stayed in smaller spaces, thanks to the military. She looked down at her feet. By the door, there were two pairs of shoes – presumably Nicky’s – placed neatly. Nile slipped her shoes off on instinct, hearing her mother’s voice complaining about dragging dirt through the house.

She looked at Andy, an unspoken question of what to do. Andy, however, was looking at Booker, who was looking at anything but her. The whole car ride, Nile knew they were all thinking the same thing. _What are we going to do about Booker?_

It didn’t seem like they’d come to any sort of conclusion today, however. Not that Nile wanted to. The promise of a shower and food dangled in front of her like a carrot, and suddenly she could care less about what they were going to do. “Andy,” she said. “Let’s get you into the shower, okay?”

Andy startled, shaken from thoughts, but nodded, walking down the hallway, Nile tailing behind her as always. Andy stepped into the dingy bathroom and rested her elbows on the sink, suddenly looking every year old as she claimed to be. Nile could hear sounds from across the hallway, Joe still talking with Nicky.

“Nile,” a voice sounded from behind her.

Nile spun, finding Nicky staring at her with those damn eyes again. In his hands, two piles of clothes were folded neatly. “I have some of Andy’s clothes for both of you,” he said softly, eyes darting to look at the woman behind her, still slumped over the sink. However, just like he promised, he didn’t ask any questions. “They may not be an exact fit, but I figured it was better than putting you in some of my clothes,” he smiled.

“At this point, I’d wear anything,” Nile laughed, taking the clothes gratefully.

Nicky smirked at her, head tilting again. “I know the feeling,” he said cryptically. 

“Thank you,” Nile answered.

“Not a problem,” Nicky said. “If you need anything else, please let me know,” he added with a wave, casting a final look at Andy before heading back down the hallway and into the kitchen.

Nile turned to face Andy again, shifting back and forth on her feet. “So, uh, he has some of your clothes.”

Andy snorted, looking up at her. “Before you get your panties in a twist, it’s not what you think,” she said. “Nicky has collected all of our clothes over the years. I’m sure we’ve got plenty of his littered across our properties. Nicky’s just sentimental and keeps them all with him, laundered and folded like the grandmother he is,” he added, smiling and shaking her head at the neat pile of clothes in Nile’s hands.

“Why?”

“For exactly this reason,” Andy replied. “Nicky’s prepared for anything and everything. We give him so much shit for what he drags with him as he moves place to place, but what do you know? Guess it was useful after all. Ugh, we’ll never hear the end of it. ‘ _It never hurts to be prepared’,”_ Andy said in a rough Italian accent, parroting what Nicky had likely said to her at one point.

“No, like, why are we here? Why stay with him?”

“We trust him,” Andy responded easily. From how everyone responded to Booker’s betrayal, Nile knew that trust with this group was worth more than any currency, hard to earn, but too valuable to throw away.

“Is he like us?”

“No.”

Nile frowned. “So, wait, he’s just… normal?”

Andy chuckled. “We do talk to other people occasionally, Nile.”

“Well, yeah, but like friends?” she asked. “I mean, it’s not like you guys have too much in common.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Does he know?”

“No,” Andy answered firmly. “And he doesn’t need to know.”

Nile nodded slowly. “Okay, I won’t say anything,” she said.

She could feel Andy staring at her. “What?” she pressed, reading through Nile’s response.

“Nothing, it’s just, you were very adamant about being this whole Lone Ranger thing, but not with him? Do you have friends in every city that you just go out for drinks casually with when you blow through town?”

“No,” Andy smiled. “I don’t have other drinking buddies. But you’re right,” she continued. “This isn’t something we usually do considering who we are, but we’ve been alive for a long time. Sometimes people fall through the cracks,” she shrugged. “One of those people is Nicky. Our friendship has an expiration date, but that pain is for another day.” Andy paused again, smiling to herself. “Although, now that I’m mortal, that could change things.”

Nile nodded again but didn’t push further. There were still questions, but she had questions about almost everything they did. It was all too new for her. Just last week she was thinking about what to get her mother for Christmas this year when she was home on leave, and now she’s standing in some unknown man’s apartment in London, questioning his existence as he was going to die one day – _soon, really –_ just like her mother.

“Besides,” Andy continued. “You’ll be glad to know Nicky after you’ve tasted his cooking.”

* * *

* * *

“Who do you work for?”

The five of them were crammed in the kitchen, Nile, Nicky and Andy sitting at the table, Joe leaning against the counter, Booker in the opposite corner. Andy was right of course; Nile wasn’t sure if it was because it had seemed like forever since she’d eaten, or if what she was eating actually was a slice of heaven, but Nicky was a damn good cook. She wasn’t even sure what she was eating, but it was hearty and filling, and she couldn’t stop stuffing it in her mouth.

 _“I should have asked,”_ Nicky had said, as he laid a pan filled with steaming vegetables and meat, covered in a aromatic sauce, the smell of mixed spices making her mouth water. _“Are you allergic to anything?”_

 _“No,”_ Nile had replied. Even if she had allergies, she didn’t think they would be too much of a concern anymore. _“I’ll eat anything.”_

 _“Good,”_ Nicky had smiled, as if Nile has answered correctly.

 _“You didn’t have to cook,”_ Joe had said, even as he was piling his plate high with the meal. _“We could have ordered in.”_

_“Something told me a homemade meal would be much more appreciated.”_

He was right of course, and if Nile wasn’t already stuffed to the brim, she would gladly go in for more. Even with the threat of ruptured stomach seemed worth it. She would heal, after all.

“Depends,” Nicky said with a shrug. “I fight for what I think is right.”

“A free agent,” Andy explained. “Like us.”

 _More in common than I thought is right,_ Nile thought. However, the idea of this man running around as a contract agent like the rest of them, alone and _mortal_ seemed to make him more dangerous than anyone else sitting at the table. That, or stupid.

Nile tilted her head, as if taunting Nicky’s earlier gesture. The man smiled, his eyes twinkling in amusement. If he was in the same business, it wasn’t too outlandish that Nicky had crossed paths with the rest of them. “So, how’d you all meet? Like on a job or something?”

“Something like that,” Nicky answered, looking over at Joe.

Joe’s shoulders shook with laughter. “Malta,” he said. “Simpler times.”

Nile wanted to ask, curiosity growing with each passing second for the enigma that was the man sitting across from her. But at the look that Joe shared with Nicky, she knew that there were just some stories that she wasn’t meant to know until they wanted her to know.

The remainder dinner of was awkward, the conversation small and stilted. Nile talked with Nicky, trying to fill each of the long silences, and he answered each one politely, but it was clear that they weren’t getting anywhere.

In the silences, however, Nile took the time to study the other man. No matter how causally Andy had admitted it, Nile knew that Nicky had to be someone special in order to garner a lasting friendship with such a tightknit group. Everything about him seemed normal, but Nile knew she was barely scratching the surface. His grip, his voice, his _eyes._

They were so kind when they looked at Nile, but different than how they had looked at Joe, _so_ different from how they looked when she first saw them. They changed with each breath, each blink. They moved constantly during the meal, jumping between each of the others sat on the table, assessing, _cataloguing,_ everything.

At first, Nile thought of them like a snake’s, a viper always ready to strike, but that didn’t seem quite right. _A dragon,_ more like. Crystal eyes that didn’t match the rest of his face, wiser than they should be, as if they’d seen a million suns before this one. Calculating and calm, transfixing in a way that disarmed her despite being someone who she assumed could be a major threat. Both harsh and soft at the same time, depending on which light they were seen in. Threatening in the light of the fire they could spew, loving in the reflecting light of their golden hoard.

Nile watched as Nicky pushed the breadbasket towards Andy. _A human hoard, more like,_ she thought, smiling.

Maybe there was a reason Nicky ‘slipped through the cracks’ as Andy said. A reason she intended to find out.


	2. Chapter 2

Nicky frowned, the silence in his flat screaming at him. The silence wasn’t new to him by any standards, but it shouldn’t be there, not with them here. Decades of quiet could be erased with just a few minutes with this rag-tag group of individuals that had wormed their way into Nicky’s life. But not this time, it seemed, the silence weighing around him, heavy and oppressive. Taunting, even. Something was wrong.

He eyed the remains of their dinner, looking like it had been both devoured and just pushed around on plates at the same time. When they did end up together, meals after jobs were usually quiet, each of them regrouping from whatever disaster they had just walked away from, but this time was different. Even Nile’s innocent curiosity hadn’t been able to quell the tenseness in the air.

His gaze drifted over to Booker, where the man lay spread out on his couch, facing into the cushions. Nicky had brought out a bottle of wine with dinner, an unspoken gesture for Booker, but it wasn’t taken. Booker didn’t drink a single drop, not even looking at the bottle – or looking up from his plate, for that matter. Despite his larger frame, he seemed to curl around himself defensively, like a raisin shriveling in the sun. Around him, Nicky’s armchair and second sofa remain empty, unused.

That was most troubling. His friends have stayed over at whatever “home” he’d been living in at the time many times – and vice versa. Regardless of the guest being offered a bed, or multiple options spread throughout wherever they were staying, they’d always manage to end up crammed together. Nights bled into early mornings as they ate and drank and laughed, filling the others in on stories that they left off on the last time they’d seen each other. When sleep did come for them, one at a time, they were all loathe to move, finding more comfort tangled up together than they could with whole rooms to themselves.

 _But not this time, it seemed._ Something was definitely wrong.

Nicky sighed, slinking out of the kitchen towards his room, drawn to the quest for answers and to the man that would have them for him. 

His bedroom door wasn’t closed so Nicky peered in, leaning against the door jam. Andy and Nile were both asleep on the bed. He smiled at the younger woman who seemed to have fallen asleep strategically between Andy and the door, turned forward, ready to face unseen threats. Even not knowing much about the new addition, she seemed to fit quite well with the rest of the group.

His attention was pulled, as it always was, to Joe, who was seated in the chair of a cheap desk that Nicky bought and assembled on impulse, as he had nothing better to do with this time. He too, was looking at the pair in the bed, and didn’t seem to have noticed Nicky at all.

They hadn’t closed the curtain, so the moon hung high in the window behind Joe, creating an illuminating backdrop. The moonlight that spilled over the other man made him look both ethereal as always and as old as Nicky was. Joe was always so expressive, so _alive,_ in a way that Nicky could never even hope to be. Like a living painting, a masterpiece at every angle, telling a thousand stories with a simple gesture or a single glance. Now, he wore a face that even Nicky couldn’t decipher. His fingers, resting in his lap, twitched slightly, but Nicky couldn’t tell if it was for a pencil or for a gun.

Nicky tapped on the door lightly, as if not to disturb his sleeping guests. It must have sounded like a cannon blast to Joe by the way the man nearly jumped from his seat, chair creaking menacingly, eyes snapping to the sound of the threat. Nicky looked down at Joe’s balled fists. _A gun, then. Not a pencil._

The harsh look was gone the instant Joe locked eyes with Nicky, softening until it was just Joe looking at him. _Just Joe,_ Nicky wanted to laugh. As if anything that man did made him _Just Joe._ Nicky slipped away from the doorway, not bothering to look back. He heard the telltale sounds of Joe’s footfalls behind him, feeling the pull of the man’s closeness like a magnet. Nicky walked back across his flat and slipped onto the cramped balcony, leaving the door open for Joe to follow.

Nicky had barely leaned over his railing before he heard Joe shut the door, sidling up next to him. The pair stared out over Nicky’s balcony, content in just the presence of the other. Nicky hated it here. He had never been a fan of London. It was crowded and loud; it rained four days a week and poured the other three, and it was so damn cold, a cold that buried deep into his bones and refused to leave. But yet, he came anyway.

While he constantly had to move – given the nature of his predicament – it wasn’t as if the world was short of options. But despite his dislike for London he found his way back here too many times to count, knowing that despite his misgivings, he craved it anyway, drawn back to the dreary misery like an addict to the bottom of the bottle. He heard Joe shuffle next to him. _Another good reason to have stayed,_ he thought.

He turned to face Joe, flushing when he saw the man had already been staring at him. “ _Are you alright?”_ he asked in Arabic. Joe’s eyes crinkled with his smile, the way they did every time Nicky spoke to him in his native tongue. He still remembered the first time he’d spoken to Joe in the language, laughing in delight as the other man tripped in the street next to him, falling hard onto the cobblestones. Nicky didn’t think he’d ever forget anything about that day.

“You worry too much,” came Joe’s reply.

“I worry just the right amount,” Nicky frowned.

“So you say,” Joe answered, mimicking Nicky’s earlier reply. “Actually,” he continued slowly, as if unsure. “Andy got shot. Could you take a look at her in the morning?”

 _“You fool,”_ Nicky hissed, smacking Joe in the shoulder. “Why didn’t you say anything? I should look at it now, it could be—”

“Hey, relax,” Joe soothed, grasping Nicky’s wrists, and holding them gently in his hands. “She’s alright, for now. We already had a—,” he paused before his practically spit out, “ _doctor_ look at it. But I would feel better if you looked at it as well. Just to make sure it’s healing right.”

Relief coursed through Nicky’s veins, and he slumped further into Joe’s hold. “Of course,” he replied. “Anyone else, or was Andy the only one to get lucky?” Nicky tried to joke.

It fell flat, if the look on Joe’s face was any indication. “Just Andy,” he answered softly, his gaze drifting eons away. Nicky bit down on his lip hard, relishing in the bitter tang of copper that filled his mouth. He ran his tongue over the wound, but it had already healed. His hands were still nestled in Joe’s own, and Nicky made no move to pull away. Joe’s tanned skin contrasted beautifully against his own paleness, his fingers, an artist’s, strong and sure, capable of holding the whole world if asked. Joe must have caught him staring because suddenly the spell was broken, and Joe stepped away, breaking the connection. It left Nicky colder than London could on it’s worst day.

“Joe,” Nicky whispered. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. I can—”

“I know, I know,” Joe started.

“I do not know how much I could help, but—”

“Nicolò, I know,” Joe cut him off again. “I know, it’s just… it’s—”

“Complicated?” Nicky finished, a soft smile on his lips. Joe snorted, nodding in agreement. It was a common response, one that had ended many of their conversations. It was frustrating, as it seemed that every time Nicky spoke with Joe he was left with more questions, desperate for any bit of knowledge on the secretive man in front of him. What frustrated him the most, however, was that he knew he’d never pry for more than what was given, and never argue for further reasoning. Considering how little Joe actually knew about Nicky, it was fair to let the man keep his own secrets. _Of course,_ Nicky thought to himself, _my secrets would make his look inconsequential._

It was a price he had to pay for their friendship, but one that he was more than happy to pay. They could each keep their secrets, content knowing one wouldn’t break the unspoken truth between with the other.

“You should rest,” Nicky said.

Joe shook his head. “I can’t. There’s too much that—,” he broke off with a sigh. “I just can’t.”

“I will take watch tonight. You will all be safe here,” Nicky argued. He paused, then, wondering if he should risk it. “Unless,” he continued, “you think the threat will be coming from inside the house.”

Joe cursed under his breath, shooting Nicky a dirty look. _“You’re pushing it,”_ the look said. Nicky just tilted his head in response. _“If you don’t want me to push, stop making it so obvious,”_ was the silent reply. Joe huffed and looked away, as if he’d had the same internal conversation himself.

“Booker won’t—,” Joe sighed again. “He won’t do anything. We’ll deal with him tomorrow.”

“That bad?”

Grief spilled across Joe’s features, leaving as quickly as it came. Nicky’s heart ached and he barely stopped himself from reaching out, yearning to take such deep-seated pain from the other man. It was answer enough.

“I’m sorry,” Nicky answered, unsatisfied with his own answer. “ _I can help, let me help!”_ part of him screamed, while the other half shouted, “ _don’t get involved, it’ll make things worse!”_

Joe smiled at him anyway, sincere and grateful in the way he always is. _I missed you,_ Nicky wanted to say.

Instead, he added, “Whatever the problem is, I am sure it will still be there in the morning. You’re exhausted. Go to sleep, Joe.”

“You need to sleep as well,” Joe argued. “Wake me up in a while and we’ll switch?”

“Of course,” Nicky lied, grasping Joe’s shoulder and squeezing lightly. His hand burned where to touched Joe. Like it always did. Looking at Joe was like staring into the sun; every look in return was like feeling the warm rays on a beach, every smile bright and carefree, leaving itself imprinted on Nicky’s eyelids after it had gone. Every touch was heartfelt and gentle, even though an active volcano lay just beneath the surface, powerful and deadly.

He was wearing one of Nicky’s hoodies. He wondered if he’d leave this one behind or take it like some others he’d stolen in the past. Part of Nicky loved when he took them, the selfish part of him that reveled in Joe in his mock embrace while the man was halfway across the world. However, he thinks he likes it more when Joe leaves them behind, so Nicky could bundle himself in the lingering warmth, breathing in the remainder of Joe for weeks to come.

He left the balcony, ushering Joe back to his room. Once Joe started to walk back over to the desk Nicky left for the kitchen, not looking back, even as he felt Joe’s eyes on his neck. He passed through the sitting room, hearing Booker’s echoing snores. _What did you do?_ Nicky asked silently, glaring down at the sleeping man on his couch.

 _“It’s complicated.”_ Joe’s voice echoed in his thoughts in response.

Nicky sighed, knowing he’d get no answers tonight – _if ever – ­_ so he retreated back to the kitchen, sitting at the table. He looked out the window, where the moon had already crested. _Another day._ He thought of his new housemates; at least today would be interesting.

It had been almost seven years now, since he’d first met Joe. _Time’s ticking,_ a vicious voice sounded in his head. It was a familiar voice, one that Nicky had pointedly been ignoring since he’d first met Joe, and then continued to meet him. But with each day, it was steadily growing louder, and growing more right.

Time _was_ ticking. He’d tried to change his appearance enough each time they’d cross paths to do anything, everything, to delay the inevitable. Time was crawling forward, but Nicky was not. No matter how much he prayed it wouldn’t come, there would be a day when his friends started to notice that he wasn’t aging. There would be a day that “ _it’s complicated”_ wouldn’t satisfy Joe.

Nicky slumped back in his kitchen chair, the silence laughing around him once again. It was going to be a long night.


	3. Chapter 3

Joe woke with a headache and a sore neck. He groaned, shifting in the chair he’d fallen asleep in, the cheap wood creaking like his achy bones. God forbid Nicky splurge on something a bit heavier duty. He sighed, rubbing at his eyes roughly, already feeling the night’s lingering pains start to fade. Even though he’d managed to fall asleep, Joe felt even more tired than he had the night before. Today was to be a long day.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty.”

Joe turned, rubbing away at the remaining pinpricks of pain that shot down his neck, and saw Andy sitting on the edge of the bed, slipping her shoes on. She looked worlds better than she had yesterday, but Joe still saw the lingering hurt carried in her clear eyes. “Sleep well?” she asked, smirking.

“Like a babe,” he replied cheekily, groaning again as he stood, the rest of his back cracking. Andy stood as well, and Joe caught a flash of new bandages on her stomach as she adjusted her shirt.

“Nicky look at you?”

“Bitched the whole time about not telling him,” Andy said with a roll of her eyes, “but he said everything looks fine. I passed muster, for now.”

“Good,” Joe said, nodding. One less thing to worry about, right now. The intrepid dread and fear surrounding Andy’s newfound mortality was a problem for another day. They had to finish crawling out of the mess they’d created for themselves, first. One step at a time.

The bedroom door opened, and Nile poked her head inside, also looking radiant and fresh faced, like she hadn’t taken a header out of a skyscraper just the day before. She smiled at Joe, as if it was just another morning. She was already so strong.

“How are you?” he couldn’t help but ask.

“Fine,” she replied, smiling again, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Already trying not to be a burden. That was another thing on their endless to-do list. Nile. _She doesn’t deserve any of this,_ Joe thought. She was young, so _damn_ young. To be thrown into this life was one thing, but at a time like this? He wasn’t even equipped to handle it all. Joe sighed and squeezed her shoulder as he passed her. It didn’t matter if he was equipped or not, destiny decided to throw something else his way, and Joe would take it in stride. Maybe it was a do-over, a second chance to take care of Nile in the way that they had apparently failed with Booker.

 _Speaking of,_ Joe thought walking towards the sitting room. Part of him thought that Booker would make a run for it after they’d all went to bed. He had, after all, a history of running.

But upon entering the room, Joe saw that man still there. Maybe he finally realized that he had nowhere to run to, so there wasn’t a point of running at all.

Booker was awake, but it didn’t look like he’d moved from where he’d set up on the couch last night. Joe saw his fingers twitch, no doubt hearing Joe enter the room, but he kept staring down into his lap, head hanging heavily.

He didn’t linger on the man, rage and grief bubbling in his gut, threatening to explode. There was so much that he wanted to say to him, wanted to _do_ to him, but Joe hadn’t. Nicky was a calming presence last night, as he always was, and Joe had taken his advice to try and get some rest. He knew what Nicky had really meant. To calm himself, _to_ _be patient;_ gather his thoughts and articulate his next steps before he went in ‘ _guns blazing’_ as Nicky claimed Joe always did.

But rest never truly came, and the patience only charged the emotions that already roared inside him. How dare he. How _dare_ Booker. How dare he claim all that pain and suffering like it was his, and his alone? How could he cry to them for all he’d lost when Joe never truly gotten the chance to have what Booker had, all while living lifetimes of loss before Booker was even an idea in his mother’s mind.

 _“Misery loves company,”_ Booker had said in France. Joe had laughed at that. They were all miserable, but they were all miserable together. Booker had never taken to his immortality well, and ever since they’d met him, he could only see his own weight that he was carrying. Did he really think that his turmoil could not be matched – amplified, even – with Joe’s own? With Andy’s? Did Booker really not know that they’d all stood screaming into oblivion, blood soaking every inch of their bodies as they tried again, and again, and again to end it all?

The shared misery was gone. All that was left what anger and hurt.

Joe turned, walking away from another potential confrontation with Booker, and walked into the kitchen. His shoulders slumped, his rage and grief immediately blanketed by a certain giddiness when he saw that he wasn’t alone.

Nicky was curled in one of the kitchen chairs, legs crossed, and arms wrapped around the other as he bent over a book, eyes blazing intently on the pages. It was one of his favorite things about Nicky, his eyes. How when he looked at you, the gaze was so intense it was if you were the only thing that existed, the only thing that mattered. Each look from him and it was as if all the air was sucked from the room, leaving Joe breathless. The color, of course, was indescribable. _Those eyes were created just for me,_ Joe thought selfishly.

Joe could spend years waxing poetry to Nicky’s eyes. In all his years, all the millions of faces he’d seen, there had never been eyes like his. Whenever those eyes locked on him, they demanded attention, and Joe was helpless to resist. Too many sketchbooks were lost to those eyes, but no matter how many times he tried, he couldn’t seem to get them right. Maybe it was because constraining his eyes to paper, to singular colors was a disservice. Joe didn’t see Nicky’s eyes in colors, he saw them as memories. Some of his favorites over the many lifetimes he’d lived.

The Northern Lights cresting over a mountain in Sweden. An ocean of vibrant trees in Monteverde. Stained glass shimmering in the Sagrada Família. Now, with the first morning light on his face, the colored memory was one of Joe’s favorites. Wading through the crystal shallows of the Mediterranean Sea. Joe could almost feel the warmth of the sun on his face, hear the waves lapping as water licked at his calves, taste the salt in the air. _Home,_ he thought. The only one he thought he’d ever know, now nothing more than a faint whisper of a memory.

Joe tore his eyes away, focusing on the rest of Nicky’s body. It was almost comical, the way his body was hunched over, but Joe knew he was completely at ease. Knowing the other man, Nicky had probably been sitting this way for hours and wasn’t feeling a single ache from the unusual position. Joe had once seen him fold himself into a hanging kitchen cabinet for a sniper’s nest to avoid detection. He’d stayed up there for hours, not moving once.

Nicky had always been so statuesque. Every move he made, every word he spoke, it was deliberate. Calculated, even. Premeditated and perfect in every way; even the way turned the pages of his book were graceful. When jobs they’d taken together had gone south – which happened more than he’d care to admit – Nicky would glide through them, like he’d done it a million times before. He was so elegant. So deadly. Joe always felt like an elephant stampeding beside him.

“I thought we decided that I was going to take over watch from you,” Joe said, walking over to the other man. He preened when he saw a smile tick in the corner of Nicky’s mouth, his friend closing the book and placing it aside, gaze shifting to Joe. Joe shivered at the heat of the stare. _You have my full attention,_ they said. _There is nothing here but you._

“Apologies,” Nicky drawled, his voice as smooth as water cascading down leathered armor. “I must have gotten caught up in my book,” he added, not looking away from Joe. Joe did, eyeing the paperback on the table. _The Shack._ He wondered what it was about. He’d caught Nicky reading through almost every topic imaginable, from philosophy to the ergonomics behind airplane design.

 _“It’s interesting, Joe,”_ Nicky had said, like he always said, when Joe poked fun at whatever he was nose deep in.

Joe had bought him plenty of books over the course of their friendship, catching odd titles or interesting cover art that would make Joe think of Nicky. Nicky would always get a greedy sort of smile when Joe would present him with the gifts, a side of the man that rarely showed.

But not history books. Joe wasn’t sure why, but any book Joe brought him about history – mostly Joe’s history, a subtle way to let Nicky know more about him without revealing their secrets – was graciously accepted, but never read, the pages unturned.

When Joe asked him about it, Nicky had just shrugged. _“When history writes something that impresses me, then I will read.”_

The book he was reading now was small, and Joe knew how fast Nicky could read. He could easily put away two books of that size before the sun rose. He looked back at Nicky to see the man smirking at him, as if daring Joe to call him out on it. No matter how far their friendship had come, Nicky was still a shit.

Joe decided not to get in it with Nicky; it was too early, and his thoughts were screaming at him – not that it mattered, he would always lose to Nicky’s silver tongue. Instead he trumped over to the coffee machine where a batch sat already brewed, because of course Nicky had brewed coffee for them all.

There were a few mismatched mugs laying on the counter, ready for use. Next to them was a small bowl filled with fresh fruit, and a drying rack holding last night’s dishes. It was so unequivocally normal and domestic, and it made Joe’s chest throb. He could imagine Nicky waking in the mornings, face pushed into a book and still dancing around the kitchen effortlessly, preparing breakfast with ease without looking up once, retreating to the nearest window with his meal and entertainment, to bask in the morning sun like a lazy cat.

There were many things that Joe missed about having a mortal life – a _normal_ life – but it was always the smallest of things that seemed to hurt the most. Joe wanted a fruit bowl. He wanted coffee stained mugs and drying dishes, and a cheap coffee machine.

He thought of Nicky sitting at the kitchen table. He wouldn’t mind having someone to share it all with, as well.

“Joe?” Nicky’s voice pulled him from his thoughts, realizing he’d been staring blankly at the coffee maker.

“Sorry,” Joe smiled, shaking his head. “Must still be too early for me.”

Joe could practically feel Nicky roll his eyes. “Midday is too early for you,” the other man griped. “I swear, Joe, the dead sleep less than you.”

 _I am the dead,_ he wanted to say. He didn’t, though, opting to ignore the coffee altogether for Nicky. Any continued bickering was interrupted by Nile and Andy entering the kitchen, Booker trailing in after them. For a moment, the five of them stood around in silence.

“What’s the plan?” Booker’s voice was hoarse, rough in a way that reminded Joe of a sword being sharpened with a whetstone. No one had an answer. What was there to say?

“You are all welcome to stay as long as you’d like,” Nicky said slowly, carefully, as if speaking to a pack of wild deer. The tone, however, was different; detached. Nicky was looking at Booker, but his gaze shifted over to Joe. The statement was framed more like a question, careful, Nicky leaving it to them to decide for him.

Nicky was always so observant, so _clever._ Of course it would be easy for him to notice that something had happened with Booker. Last night, his comment – _“Unless you think the threat will be coming from inside the house.” –_ had confirmed that. He’d said that not to ask Joe about what had happened, but to let Joe know that he had noticed.

And that he would take care of it, if a problem were to arise. Joe shivered. Nicky’s unwavering loyalty still stopped him in his tracks, even after years of knowing him. It was constant and absolute, drawing Joe safely into the harbor like the North Star. It was a loyalty he thought Booker shared, but it looks like he was wrong about that.

He couldn’t help but wonder last night – a train of thought that he’d lost too much time to – what it would be like if Nicky was like them. Trapped in an endless cycle of life and death, cursed to walk the Earth until the day their wheels stop spinning. He wondered what Nicky would be like, if he would be different than the man he was now. Would be overcome with spite, like Andy? Hollow, with a cracked shell, like he was? Would he do what Booker did, just for a chance to turn the lights off?

Joe locked eyes with Nicky. _No._ He’d never.

He remembered a job that he’d helped Nicky with just last year in Brazil. It was gone wrong in such spectacular fashion, and half of the targets they’d been hired to protect were dead. Some of them, kids.

 _“Living is hard,”_ Nicky had whispered to him, the pair sitting on the roof of their hotel, staring at the stars. _“Trying to move forward can be hard.”_ He hadn’t spoken before this, not since he’d seen the bodies. _“The world can produce such horrors. No matter how hard, you must put one foot in front of the other and keep moving. Because for every ugliness, there is beauty right alongside it.”_ He had pointed up at the stars, hand reaching high as if to try and grab some for himself. “ _I choose to see the beauty; it fills me with purpose. If I didn’t, this world would drown me.”_

 _Nicky would be the best of us all,_ Joe thought. The brunette was still looking at him, his eyes questioning. It seemed like Booker’s question, although said to group, was meant from Andy. However, after seeing her blank eyes this morning, it seemed that she still didn’t have anything to say to Booker. Nicky, of course, would have figured that out already, relying on Joe to take the lead. 

“We can’t,” Joe answered. “We have to drop Booker off at the airport.”

The air was tense, electrified, as if they were all caught in the moment right before lightening would strike. It was an answer, albeit a flimsy one, and everyone knew it. They all knew that wasn’t what they were going to do, Nicky as well, but he wisely stayed silent, _watching_ , as he always did.

To be perfectly honest, Joe had no idea where they would go. But they needed to go somewhere, to answer the question they’d all had – _what the hell are we going to do about Booker?_ He didn’t know what to do, to say, to _think._ What he did know, was that he certainly wasn’t going to find the answer in Nicky’s apartment.

It was a calculated risk, letting Booker see where Nicky had been staying – a place that he’d only told Joe about. After everything that had happened at Merrick’s, Joe had been shell-shocked, too numb to see anything clearly. All he could see was the thought of Nicky, drawn to him like a moth to a flame, with promises of gentle words and kind eyes and _trust._ He knew that Nicky could take care of himself, but Joe certainly wasn’t going to let Booker linger around the man any longer than he already had. He’d lost that right.

“I see,” Nicky replied. “Shame you can’t stay longer.”

“We’ll be back later today,” Joe answered quickly. “Just want to see him off, that’s all.” He could feel Andy’s stare, but Joe didn’t meet her gaze. He knew what she was thinking. They didn’t need to just discuss Booker; what they themselves were going to do was up in the air as well. Joe knew they couldn’t remain in London long, and that they would need to scatter, bury their heads in the sand until they could move on, but Joe wasn’t ready to leave just yet. He thought of Nicky sitting in the morning sun at the kitchen table again, carefully turning the pages of his book. _No, not quite yet._

“Come on, Andy,” Nile said, leading her towards the door, as if expecting a conversation that she wasn’t meant to be a part of. It was practiced, like a child going to hide in their room before their parents started to fight. “Let’s head down to the car.” She paused, looking back at Nicky. “Thank you, again.”

Nicky smiled, walking over to the pair. He drew Andy into a soft hug, delicate, like he was handling a glass figurine. When he stepped back, he pulled Nile into a hug as well, much to the younger woman’s surprise. “Of course,” Joe heard Nicky say before he added softly, “Look after her.”

Andy scoffed and punched Nicky’s shoulder, but let Nile lead her out of the flat.

Joe wished Booker would follow them. Just so he could have a few minutes alone with Nicky. He didn’t, of course. Selfish bastard.

“I hope you have a safe flight,” Nicky said to Booker. Booker laughed hollowly, all three of them seeing the elephant in the room but refusing to acknowledge it.

Nicky hugged Booker as well, and he purposely ignored Joe’s heated glare. _Too kind,_ Joe thought. He was always too kind, even to those who didn’t deserve a single ounce.

Booker stepped towards the door but then stopped, grabbing Nicky’s arm. Joe wanted to throttle him. “ _Grazie_ , Nicky,” Booker said softly. “For everything.”

Joe saw Nicky’s eyes widen slightly. There was a certain finality to the statement, and Nicky had definitely noticed it. _Good_. He didn’t plan on letting Booker anywhere near Nicky again. “Anytime, Booker,” Nicky answered. “That’s what friends are for.”

Joe’s hands balled into fists. He could see the misery etched onto Booker’s face but when he cast a look over at Joe, he was smart enough not to respond, just walking out of the door, tail between his legs. Nicky stared after him, and Joe would give anything to know what he was thinking.

“Do what you must,” Nicky finally said, “but remember. He is just a man.”

Joe clenched his jaw, staring at Nicky’s silhouette that was still haloed in sunlight from the window. _The world does not deserve your kindness._

* * *

* * *

Nicky pulled out a plastic bag from under his sink, ignoring the gnawing questions in the back of his mind. It was past midday by now, but each second that passed moved slowly, as if he were wading through mountains of sand. He was exhausted, about as tired as that time he’d actually tried to cross mountains of sand in the Gobi Desert. They say that Jesus survived forty days in the desert. _Child’s play,_ he thought, chuckling to himself.

Joe had promised that they wouldn’t be back until later tonight, so Nicky had time to take the rest he so desperately needed, but he knew sleep wouldn’t come. It hadn’t come for days, even before they’d all shown up. When Joe had appeared, covered in blood and rattled to the core, all exhaustion was gone in an instant, his mind focused on the apparent disaster that had befallen his friends.

Even this morning it had lingered, especially as he looked over Andy. She had griped and moaned – like she always did – but it was different this time. Maybe it was because it was the first time that she’d actually let Nicky take a look at her injuries, despite his constant offerings. His initial thought was that it must have been a disastrous wound, but he’d seen worse in his lifetime. She would heal. But the dead stare she’d given the wall as he’d wrapped her in fresh bandages was nothing he’d seen from her before.

Andy was a spitfire. She had a certain aura around her, bullheadedness, but also determination, _strength._ Fighting alongside here was like riding the coattails of a comet, but it was addicting, _invigorating._ It was so easy to fall in step with her, to stand by her side, to want to scream from the nearest cliff _‘I’ll follow you anywhere!’_

It had shaken him to his core, when he’d first worked with Andy. Though there was little physical resemblance, she reminded him so much of Jeanne D’Arc. How he’d seen her on top of that hill, sparkling white armor sat atop a white horse. She’d looked like an archangel, sent straight from heaven to rain down her father’s fury. Nicky had never even properly met her, just saw her on that hilltop at the Siege of Orleans. But his heart had been filled in that moment, that single moment, like the rest of the men around him. 

Now she seemed like a shell. Hollowed. Like he was.

Nicky stepped into the bathroom to dispose of the used towels, stopping in surprise to see them folded neatly in the corner. Nicky smiled, knowing immediately that Nile had been responsible. He and the others had long since passed the stilted politeness that came with new friendship. Any need to impress the others was long gone. He could chide them for leaving behind their messes, but Nicky could name more than one occasion that he’d left a few tornadoes behind himself.

It seemed that Nile had also tried to wipe down the shower and sink, bloody tissues thrown neatly in the trash. _How quickly will the rest corrupt you?_ Nicky thought with a smile. Nile was certainly a worthy addition to their group, but he’d still been so shocked by how young she was. The way she’d stood next to the others, the way she’d squeezed his hand when they’d met and gave him a look that screamed, _“give me a reason, I dare you”,_ was another reminder to how little age meant to him. Come to think of it, maybe Nile reminded him more of the martyr in the white armor than Andy did.

His chest clenched at the thought of Jeanne. A woman he never got to know, and now Nile, someone he couldn’t afford to know. He could see how Nile fit seamlessly into the cracks he didn’t know there were with the others, but it was too late. Nicky had already waded too far in, clutching the lifeboat that was Joe and the others for too long. The waves crashed over his head and he knew he’d have to let go, let the current of time take them away from him, like it had taken everything else.

He’d done this to himself, really. How many times had he made the promise that _this is the last time, this is the last time, I swear._ They were platitudes; pretty little lies that he spun around himself.

He could do it now, he knew. Just walk out the door and disappear. He’d done it thousands of times before, so what was different now? With whatever had happened with Booker, he knew he had time to slip away, far enough that even Andy couldn’t find him. Joe had said they wouldn’t be back until late. It could be a clean break; stealing away in the night seemed like a much better alternative that imagining the look on Joe’s face when he told him that he’d never see them again.

It would be so easy. _Go. Do it._

Nicky’s feet refused to move.

Instead, he leaned down and picked up the dirtied towels, shoving them into the bag, dumping the remnants in the trash can on top.

_Coward. Weak._

Turns out some things don’t change with time.

Nicky sighed, walking across the hall to his bedroom, bundling up the stained clothes piled on the ground and bring them back to the trash bag he’d left in the hall. There was so much blood – _too much blood._ He’d tried to check on the others – getting Andy to cooperate with him was a nightmare as always, but at least she’d let him see her wounds. Each farewell hug had his arms wandering across their covered skin, looking for any sign of discomfort, or injury, anything. They’d all seemed fine, and Nicky knew that they were all more than capable. But the bloody rags in his hands told a different story. He shouldn’t have agreed to no questions.

He shook his head, shoving the clothes into the bag. He would dispose of the evidence later.

He heard a clink of metal hitting the floor and looked down to see a necklace laying on the floor. It must have fallen out of Nile’s jacket pocket. He huffed at the blood that was caked into it, and he leaned down to pick it up, intending to wash it off.

They were dog tags, but Nicky wasn’t too surprised that Nile would have military training. She carried herself like a soldier. His eyes glanced down at the tag and suddenly he was jerking it out of his hand, as if it had burned him. The tag smacked against the wall and fell to the floor, but Nicky could still feel the heat of it in his palm. He could still see Nile’s name in front of his eyes.

_FREEMAN_

Nicky moaned, legs buckling, and he barely had time to grab the wall to slow his descent before he was on the ground. He could read the whole name on the tag but when he blinked, he saw it as he first had in his head, blood covering the last few letters.

He’d dreamed of bloody dog tags a few days ago. He saw the word _FREE,_ smelled the desert dirt, heard the sounds of a helicopter over him. Felt a blade slide across his neck like a viola bow, warm blood careening down his neck.

He’d woken up screaming.

It wasn’t like he’d never had nightmares before. While his body seemed to pick up and move on after each death, his subconscious like to remind him of the horrors he’d experienced every now and again. There were just some things you don’t forget.

War was one of those things. He’d lived through more battles than history even bothered to retell. He could still hear the squeals of horses and men, dying in the mud of the Crusades. Scarecrows and lawn ornaments looked like the bodies he saw skewered on the horizon, back when Vlad Dracula walked the Earth. Breathing in icy air always reminded him of the winter’s he’d lost following Napoleon. He still hadn’t been able to go back to Normandy. He’d died seven times trying to cross the beach.

If there was anything that he hated most about his immortality, it was that the more things changed, the more they stayed the same. The human race had war in their veins. Peace was nothing more than a veil, a sham to all, even those who claimed to seek it. Humans were greedy and power hungry. No one would ever truly be satisfied. It made Nicky sick.

He’d walked along side them as they evolved. People grew smarter, but people grew _hungrier._ Evolution wasn’t a straight line, it was a circle. Round and round they all go, fighting the same fights their ancestors did, setting up more for their children’s children to repeat. He knew he was part of the problem himself. How many times had he hung up his sword, saying _enough is enough,_ just to shed one uniform for the next, one loyalty for another.

So no, it wasn’t uncommon to be reminded of his past dalliances. But this one, it had been so vivid. Like he’d been the one dying even though he was the one watching. It was because of this, that he’d been unable to sleep since.

Nicky assumed the memory had been from the past few decades. As much as he tried to avoid it, he’d begrudgingly ended up assisting the United States military in the Middle East on a few occasions. There had been plenty of loss there, soldiers and innocents alike. He’d been alive for so long that he constantly lost faces, muddied over time until they were eventually lost. He certainly didn’t remember watching a solider getting their throat cut, but if Nicky tried to remember every person he’d seen die, he’d most likely go insane.

He dropped his head into his hands, but let his eye peek out from behind his fingers, over at Nile’s dog tags, sitting innocently on the other side of the hallway. Logically, he knew it wasn’t the same one he’d seen in his dream, but it was too close, too real for Nicky to handle.

The days were getting longer. The days were getting _harder._ There was still so much to be done, but it would never be enough. When would it ever be enough? Every right that he tried to do, ended up leaving three wrongs in its wake. When would whatever was keeping him tethered here be satisfied?

He was just so damn tired.

Nicky curled himself into a ball, arms wrapped tightly around each other, fingers digging into his skin. He relished in the pain, relished in feeling anything.

He must have drifted, because the next thing he knew, someone was grabbing at his shoulders and shaking them. “—olò. Nicolò, svegliati, _svegliati!”_

Nicky jumped, limbs floundering like a newborn foal. He squirmed and tried to get his body to cooperate, his hands smacking ineffectively at the body looming over him. He hadn’t been this flummoxed since the 14th century. An iron grip wrapped around his wrist, blocking his next assault, but Nicky felt himself slump, immediately recognizing the hand.

Nicky opened his eyes and saw Joe crouched in front of him, worry written all over his face. “Joe,” Nicky said. His voice sounded like an old truck spluttering to life. The hall was darker, much darker than when he’d first sat down. _What time was it?_

“What’s happened?” Joe pressed, his eyes darting over Nicky’s body, similar to how Nicky had done so the night before. He knew he probably looked about as wrecked as they had. The tips of his fingers were covered in blood from where he’d dug his nails too deep into his skin, his eyes wide and red-rimmed, his face pale and gaunt.

Nicky caught movement to his left and saw both Andy and Nile standing over them. When he met Nile’s eyes, he looked away in shame, suddenly unable to keep her gaze. As if she were a ghost from his past come to haunt him. But wasn’t she? Another cog in the never-ending wheel, a reminder that as far as he moved, he was moving in circles and that his imprints in history meant nothing, and they were always destined to repeat themselves.

What had she said yesterday? _“Or wait, do you need to specify the century? What are we talking about, the 16th?”_

Why had she said that, _why_ had she said that? A joke, nothing more than a passing comment that was a slap in his face. It was too much. It was too close, too loud, and he couldn’t, he just _couldn’t—_

“Hey.” Joe’s voice was soft, but solid. Comforting. Like a blanket draping over his weary shoulders. “Tell me. What’s wrong?”

 _Tell me._ Nicky could laugh. How many times had he thought about telling Joe? How many times did he get so close that it was on the tip of his tongue?

He wondered what Joe would say. Would he be angry? Would he laugh, or be disgusted? Maybe he’d be understanding. Joe always did see the best in people.

“I’m alright,” Nicky said slowly, not able to trust even his own lie. “Just tired, I suppose.”

It was the wrong answer, given the frown Joe gave him in return. He wouldn’t tell him. Not today. Before Joe could push, Nicky asked, “Did Booker get to the airport alright?”

Joe’s eyes turned stormy, but the anger in his eyes was a welcome distraction from the unbridled concern he’d directed towards Nicky. “Yes,” he snapped.

“Good,” he said, nodding. He stood upright, practically tearing himself from Joe’s side. “I was, uh, just cleaning up, and uh—,” he took a breath, looking back at Nile. “Nile, I think that’s yours.” He pointed in the general direction of the necklace. He didn’t look at it. He certainly wasn’t going to pick it up again.

“Oh, yeah,” Nile said, reaching down to pick it up, draping it over her neck. The tags seemed to bore straight into his soul.

“You are military?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m a – _was –_ a Marine,” Nile replied.

“Oh,” Nicky said simply. He’d worked with many Marines in the past. Had he been one himself? It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. His memories swirled angrily in his head, making him nauseous and lightheaded.

He could feel them all staring at him. In that moment, he wished to be alone, knowing it was because he was always alone that he was this way.

Nicky smiled. “Is anyone hungry?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Shack is a book by William P Young. It's about a man returning to the scene of the crime of his daughter's murder, all to be confronted by God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit to start him on the road to healing and forgiveness. 
> 
> Also, I've been staring angrily at this chapter for hours, desperately wanting to have written 'Nicolò, destati!' because of course both Joe and Nicky know old Italian, but they don't know that the other one knows or why and UGH. I did this to myself.


	4. Chapter 4

_He jumped onto the tallest rock he could, breathing the salted air in deeply. It felt as if it was his first full breath in days. He’d been away from the shoreline for too long; his days being filled with dull teachings and musings that he could care less about. He was meant to be here, basking in the sun and sea, free as the birds that screeched above him._

_He squeezed one eye closed and pointed a finger out, tracing the line of where the sea met the sky. He’d go there one day; farther than anyone had sailed before._

_Ships filled the harbor today, large ones that swayed in the wind as they sat docked in port, others so far away they looked only as large as ants._

_He scrambled down the rock he was on, skipping down to the harbor. It was crowded and lively as always, and he loved it._

_“Nicolò!” came a shout from behind him. He stopped, grinning over his shoulder as the large harbormaster huffed towards him, face red and puffy. “No trouble, not today! Get off my docks!”_

_Nicolò laughed madly and took off in a run, knowing that he would never be able to catch him. He was small and quick like a fox and could slink his way through the tight walkways of the harbor market with his eyes closed._

_He raced through the stalls, eyes wide as he took in the new treasures that had been brought in from lands far away. Brightly colored tapestries, perfumed liquids, exotic foods. He snuck up to one merchant and quickly swiped a piece of fresh fruit displayed, dipping behind the next stall before he was seen. Flavor burst into his mouth as he took a bite, juice running down his chin and sticking to his fingers._

_Maybe he’d go back later to steal a piece for Renato. Usually he’d be running here with his friend at his side, laying claim to the harbor together, but Renato had been busy lately. Busy like Nicolò was, days filling with training instead of playing._

_Nicolò squinted, looking at the ships packed in the bay. He yearned to go down there; to walk the decks, to climb the ropes. To grab the wheel and steer him far away from here. But while outrunning the harbormaster was an easy task, walking down the piers was a goal he’d yet to achieve. He and Renato had tried everything, but the sailors there were large and strong. Nicolò could barely touch down on the wooden planks before they were dragged away, angry voices telling them that it wasn’t a place for children._

_Nicolò was hardly a child; he’d seen seven summers already and was already more clever than the rest of them._

_He scampered down the steps of the harbor, jumping off the shallow stone wall and onto the sandy beach. He squeezed the grains in his hand, nose wrinkling at smell of dead fish and rotting wood. Before someone could catch him, Nicolò was off again, running down the beach and into the shallows until he stood under the pier. While he could not walk the pier, no one had told him he could not walk under it._

_He and Renato would spend all day here if they could, sharing their stolen goods with each other. Laying in the wet sand and looking up at the people that walked over them. Trying to guess what was in the barrels they were moving, listening in on conversations and learning words their mothers would cry about. Sometimes they’d stick debris that had washed onto shore through the slats to try and get someone to trip._

_He was alone, today, but no less satisfied to watch the world above him. Barrels rolled on the wooden walkways, and Nicolò caught darkened dust fall through the planks and onto the sand. He gasped, inching closer to the fallen piles, touching them gingerly. The smell was strange, and it tickled his nose. He wondered if this was the black powder that Renato had whispered stories to him about, having overheard them from his uncle._

_“It makes you breathe fire like a dragon,” Renato had told him with wide eyes. Nicolò grabbed a handful and shoved them in his pocket. Renato would be so jealous when he saw what Nicolò had found._

_Sharp clanging from above caught his attention, and Nicolò watched in awe as looming shadows marched the pier above him. Soldiers. Armored in shiny metal, holding even shinier swords. Even under the shade of the dock, Nicolò could see how they glinted in the sunlight._

_He’d never seen them so up close before. He and Renato had played knights with whittled sticks many times, slashing their way through invisible enemies with grace and laughter. He could picture himself wearing that armor himself one day; the day he’d sail away from the city and out into the world. They must be getting on one of the ships, Nicolò thought. Nicolò’s father had told him that they were fighting for rightful land, for an island right off the coast. Nicolò was not sure what made the island so special, that it was worth fighting for._

_Suddenly, shouts rang out above him, loud and angry. Nicolò curled in on himself at first, thinking that he’d been caught, but soon found that the thuds of running feet sounded over and then past him. What was happening?_

_Nicolò crawled to the edge of his cover, trying to steal a glimpse at what had caught everyone’s attention when an enormous booming roared in the air. Nicolò screamed, covering his ears with his hands, tucking his face into his knees. He’d never heard something that loud before; not even when storms rolled off the sea and rumbling thunder and cracking lightening shook the walls of his house._

_His breath came in short pants and Nicolò could feel the wetness of tears, which he quickly wiped away with shaking hands. Knights are not afraid._

_He peeked his head out from behind his legs, gasping at what he saw. Gone was the blue of the ocean and the sky, replaced with terrifying oranges and dancing yellows._

_Fire._

_It roared, eating hungrily through the ship it had started on, smoke billowing tall into the cloudless sky. Nicolò willed his legs to move but he was frozen, entranced by the way the flames started to lick down the ship and to the rest of the dock._

_More shouts were voiced, and the steps he heard run one way were back over head his, sprinting the other direction. Before he could even think about following, a second blast released. This time, it wasn’t the ship, but the dock itself, the wood splintering around him, before tumbling down onto his body._

_This time, he couldn’t stop the tears, his cries loud and anguished as the smoking wood crushed his body. He could hear other screams around him but no matter how loud Nicolò’s were, no one could seem to hear him. He was terrified, thrashing his body in every way that he could, trying desperately to escape his wooden prison. It was too heavy, however, and he struggled in vain, even getting him more stuck in the process. He screamed for Renato, for his mother, for anyone to come for him._

_And then suddenly, the weight was gone from his chest, and Nicolò opened his eyes to see strong hands lifting the debris overhead, while another pair scooped Nicolò against their chest._

_Nicolò cried some more, pushing himself closer to the embrace. It reminded him of both his mother and father’s touch, the grip strong and sure as they held Nicolò to their chest, but the touch soft and kind, as gentle as the morning breeze. He could smell the armor, leather, not metal, but also remnants of something sweet. Honey, perhaps._

_Nicolò felt the chest he was resting his head against rumble, speaking in a tongue that he couldn’t understand. It was soothing none the less. They were talking to the other – the one that had lifted the wood off him – and maybe there was another? Nicolò tuned them out, focusing on the vibrations his savior’s chest made as they talked. As she talked. It was a woman._

* * *

* * *

Nicky leaned against the hallway wall, tapping a forgotten melody against his chest with his fingers. He hadn’t meant to find his way back here, but here he was. He stared at the floor across from him, still seeing the dog tags that were long gone.

They’d all gone again. Nile, Andy, and Joe. They’d left with the same finality that Booker had. It wasn’t uncommon; there were few times that they’d been all to sit back and relax after a job. And, if their job had gone as horribly as Nicky imagined, he knew they’d be itching to leave.

They’d all done it many times before. As much as Nicky liked working with them there was always work for him to do alone; he couldn’t stay, and they never asked him too. Each departure was hard but not unbearable, each ‘goodbye’ was more of a ‘see you later’, as they all knew that it would be months – sometimes only weeks – before they’d be crashing into each other again.

To the others, Nicky knew this goodbye was no different for them. Repeated thanks were given, as well as promises of new contact info to be sent his way as soon as they got resettled. No different than all the times they’d parted ways before.

But for Nicky it was.

It would be the last time he’d see them.

For good, this time. No more excuses or platitudes. He’d made the decision earlier that day, sitting in this exact spot. He remembered the way Joe had looked at him, whispering to him in soothing tones, hair tangled from the London wind, eyes wild with concern. Even then, he’d been so beautiful.

Nicky had tried to brush him off and drag his attention elsewhere. A meal, anything that he could do with his hands that would pull even Nicky out of his own head. Andy hadn’t pressed him – not asking any questions went both ways with them – and Nile hadn’t either, out of politeness.

But Joe. But stubborn, thoughtful, beautiful Joe hadn’t let it lie. His touch seared into Nicky’s skin. _“It’s alright,”_ he had said. _“Whatever it is. I’m here.”_

That had been the final straw. Joe had promised him many things over the course of their relationship, and delivered on each one, wearing either a smug smile or relieved eyes.

But this was a promise that Joe would not be able to keep. One day, Joe wouldn’t be there. One day, he’d be alone again. Each day he waited, Nicky dug himself deeper, creating caverns in his heart that would never be filled once Joe was gone.

Maybe it was because of seeing Joe covered in blood. Maybe it was because of his dreams, or just because of what Joe said. Regardless of what it was, it was enough, and Nicky could not fight it any longer. Time would come for Joe, like it’d come for everything else. And whether Nicky would ever be ready or not, there would come a time that he’d have to keep living without Joe and the others. The thought of sitting around and waiting for that day to happen was unfathomable. Cutting them out of his heart seemed just as cruel, but at least he’d do it on his own terms.

Nicky wasn’t ashamed to say that he had practically clung to each of them, even Nile, just to hang onto the sliver of happiness he’d found with them for a little while longer. Joe’s hug swallowed him, as usual, and Nicky found himself trying to shrink in his hold in the hopes that Joe could keep him there forever. He’d pressed his face into Joe’s neck, trying to breathe in as much of his scent as possible. He’d heard the thrum of Joe’s heartbeat, strong and steady. He’d felt the heat of his skin and silky curls from where they pressed against Nicky’s cheeks. _I will never forget this,_ Nicky had promised. _For as long as I walk this Earth. There will be no one like you._

Now, alone again, in the flat and in life, Nicky sat in silence. Everything was still around him. That was, of course, until sharp banging rattled through the room. Nicky didn’t move. He knew who it was. It was the same knocking that had sounded through his apartment just the night before.

 _Leave,_ Nicky thought. _Please, I can’t do this again._ He held his breath, praying that Joe would just assume he was out and would leave. He knew he wouldn’t, though. Joe could never let things lie.

Nicky heard the door handle jiggle, the creak of the door opening right after. He could have made a run for it, but still, Nicky didn’t move. Joe needed him for something, and Nicky was a slave to obey. He’d never deny the man anything.

Solid footsteps made their way over to Nicky. “You know, you should really lock your door. Someone could just break in.”

Nicky smiled. Just mere hours since last hearing it last, but it was as if he was hearing it for the first time in a millennium. Nicky could listen to him forever. Joe had a way of saying everything with such conviction and passion, it was as if every sentence he said was a poem. “Yes, my eighty-seven-year-old neighbor has me quivering in my boots.”

Joe plopped down across from him, his legs slotting perfectly between the gaps made by Nicky’s own. “I could have been a murderer.”

“I knew it was you the second you passed through the kitchen.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you have very distinct footfalls.”

“Are you calling me fat?”

Nicky smiled, chuckling when Joe kicked at one of his ankles in protest. “What are you doing here?” As much pain as he felt sitting across from the man, knowing it had to stop, Nicky couldn’t help but delight in Joe’s presence. Each time they’re reunited, it was if Nicky realized he hadn’t been able to take a full breath until the other man was there with him. Something green and ugly preened in his chest that Joe had come back to see him. Like he’d already felt the loss of the other like a phantom limb, just like Nicky had.

“I was just passing through,” Joe smiled, lying easily. “I thought I would make sure that you were alright. You gave us all a scare this morning.”

 _You gave me a scare this morning,_ Nicky read between the lines. His heart swelled; Joe was a well, an endless pool that gave and gave and then gave some more. _There will be no one like you,_ he thought again.

“Is that so?” Nicky couldn’t help but ask. 

Joe looked away, drumming his fingers against his thighs. “I needed to know you were okay,” he admitted quietly.

 _You’re here, how could I not?_ Nicky wanted to say.

“Well, I’m breathing, and I still have all my fingers and my toes,” Nicky replied, wiggling his socked feet against Joe’s thigh. Joe grabbed one and pinched it hard, laughing when Nicky tried to bat him away. “It was nice of you to come,” Nicky added. “But you could have just called. Why are you really here?”

Joe sighed, suddenly looking years older than he was. “I need to go underground for a bit,” he said, deep creases forming on his face as he frowned. Nicky wasn’t surprised. It wasn’t uncommon for anyone with their job description to lay low for a bit, at least until the news cycle changed. Hell, Nicky had spent years hiding away if he felt he was letting himself get too public.

Nicky hummed, leaning over to grab at the newspaper he’d gotten from his mailbox earlier that day. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with this, would it?” He showed Joe the front page, bold letters that spelled out _MERRICK LAB MASSACRE_ staring back at him. Joe didn’t respond, but it was answer enough. Them showing up out of the blue last night led Nicky to believe that the job they’d come from had to be close, but after reading the paper and flicking on the afternoon news confirmed it. He’d worked with them enough to know the calling card of destruction they usually left behind in their wake.

“I was thinking Germany,” Joe said instead, leading the conversation to safer territory. “It’s been a while,” he said with a shrug. “But then I thought, why not Austria? You told me how much you enjoy Salzburg.”

Nicky blinked, body thrumming with warmth at Joe’s comment. He’d remembered, _of course,_ he’d remembered. Nicky had only mentioned Salzburg to him once, just in passing, the two chatting idly while they were on a stakeout together. Nicky wasn’t sure why he had bothered bringing it up; it had been walking into dangerous territory, and he’d barely kept himself from slipping up.

Yes, he enjoyed Salzburg greatly, the contrast of the tight cobblestone streets and vast rolling hills. Why he’d really made the comment about the town was because instead of focusing on any signs of movement in the building he was staring at through his scope, he had been thinking about _Joe_ in Salzburg. Him walking down the narrow streets, talking animatedly with shop owners about their wares. Him basking in the sun, sketching in the stunning gardens. Him trailing his fingers over the locks left by past lovers, covering the crossbridge.

“Salzburg would be nice this time of year,” Nicky agreed.

“My thoughts exactly,” Joe said. He was bouncing one of his legs slightly; Nicky could feel the vibrations. He was nervous. “You could, uh—,” Joe paused. “You could come with me, if you wanted.”

Nicky’s breath caught in his throat. How many times had he imagined Joe saying that to him, or him to Joe? How many thoughts of Joe in Salzburg had he had, all with Nicky standing right at his side? It had always been nice dream, but here it was, right in front of Nicky, dangling like a carrot. _Life is a cruel bitch,_ he thought.

“No,” he said softly, unwilling to even hear his own response. He looked away, suddenly more interested in pulling out the carpet fibers with his hands.

“Why? You can’t tell me you don’t love hiding out with me. We had a lovely time in Malta, didn’t we?” Leave it to Joe to turn to a joke, but Nicky could hear the hurt in his voice. He did love their time in Malta, even though it was during a time in which he had thought he hated Joe. He loved every moment spent with him. In fact, if Nicky didn’t know any better, he would say he was irrevocably in love with the man that sat across from him. He’d follow Joe to the ends of this Earth if he asked. He’d lay down in the mud, the shit, the blood for him, all to keep him clean. He’d topple dynasties if it would make him laugh, he’d steal the stars for him, just to see him smile. He’d burn everything to the ground for him.

He’d go to Salzburg with him if he asked. And it was because of all those reasons that he wouldn’t.

“I almost killed you in Malta,” Nicky argued. And he had. Nicky’s hands still shook when he thought about how close his blade had gotten. Even his worst nightmares paled in comparison to the thought of having killed Joe with his own hands.

“One could argue that I almost killed you,” Joe replied. He wasn’t wrong. Nicky had almost died as well, but the difference was he would have walked it off. Not like Joe.

“I can’t come with you,” Nicky said, if only as just a reminder for himself.

“Why?”

“I’m working.”

“Since when?” Joe pressed. “You didn’t mention anything yesterday.”

“I was a bit preoccupied yesterday,” Nicky argued. “A bunch of criminals showed up at my flat covered in blood and secrets.”

Joe scoffed, waving a hand in the air. “Complain all you like, but I know how much you like the excitement,” Joe smiled. He paused, before adding, “What are working on? Need any help?”

“Joe—”

“I’m just saying, an extra set of hands could—”

“Joe,” Nicky interrupted again. “They’re already speculating domestic terrorism for what happened at Merrick’s. You certainly cannot be out helping me with my job after that.”

Joe pouted. “I can. I can be sneaky.”

Laughter bubbled in Nicky’s chest. “You are many things, Joe, but stealthy is not one of them.”

“You wound me,” Joe exclaimed, clutching at his chest dramatically. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

The two broke into more laughter. “This job,” Joe said, once silence descended between them again.

“Just cleaning up some loose ends,” Nicky said. “You’d get bored.”

Joe hummed, but didn’t push any further, as if sensing Nicky’s hesitance. Suddenly, he shoved Nicky’s knee to the side, looking over his leg. “Are you drinking right now?” Joe asked incredulously.

Nicky shrugged. “I do partake every now and again.”

“Since when? I’ve never seen you drink.”

“You’ve never seen me drink because I don’t drink with you,” Nicky corrected. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I haven’t made the cut.”

“I usually only drink with Booker.”

Joe’s face pinched at the sound of Booker’s name. “Why?”

“I don’t like drinking alone.” Nicky paused, before adding, “And Booker likes drinking with someone who is a sadder drunk than he is.”

Joe frowned, eyeing the bottle distastefully. He kicked a leg out and sent the bottle flying down the other end of the hallway. “You shouldn’t drink alone,” Joe chastised, before looking at Nicky with a curious smile. “Besides, what does someone like you have to be sad about?”

Nicky glared at Joe. “It’s complicated,” he couldn’t help but snap. “What does someone like you have to be mad about? With Booker, I mean.”

Joe narrowed his eyes in return. “It’s complicated,” he parroted, crossing his arms. The pair started at each other, but said nothing more, an endless stalemate they always found themselves in. “Look,” Joe said finally, conceding this time around. “I didn’t come here to fight with you.”

 _Then stop asking difficult questions,_ Nicky wanted to say. Instead, he said, “I know. I don’t want to fight with you, either. I’m sorry.”

Joe’s foot tapped against his own in a silent acceptance, and apology of his own. “Here,” Joe said, handing Nicky a slip of paper. “I did actually bring you something.”

Nicky read the sheet, smiling at the new phone number and same dumb comment Joe always included with it. It had started after their third run in with each other. They were still at each other’s throats, but Joe had still written his number on a takeout napkin, presenting it to Nicky at the end of the successful job.

Joe’s scrawl was cramped, but beautiful. The phone number was long forgotten – they change phone numbers like shirts, with this job – but the message underneath had become an inside joke. _‘Be my pen pal?’_

Nicky had scoffed at the idea, wondering why Joe would even want to talk to him more considering most of their conversations were arguments.

Joe had just shrugged. _“You have some interesting opinions on food.”_

 _“Opinions,”_ Nicky had sneered. _“Facts, you mean. Crème fraiche should not be used for carbonara.”_

_“You haven’t tasted my recipe.”_

_“It doesn’t matter what it tastes like,”_ Nicky had snapped. _“It’s wrong, and it’s—”_

 _“Ah, ah, ah!”_ Joe had interrupted. _“Save it for the phone, my angry friend. Call me later.”_

And that had been that. Now, seven years later they still bickered about cooking, but also sent pictures of wherever they were at, daily musings they’d had, or jokes they’d heard that they thought the other would like.

Nicky memorized the numbers on the page, even knowing that he’d never use them. “That was fast,” he said. “I didn’t expect you to have a new number for days.”

Joe just shrugged. “We got a new guy helping us out. He works fast.”

“I see,” Nicky replied.

“Now,” Joe said, tapping the paper in Nicky’s hand. “You can give a call when you finish up your loose ends. I have a lot of time on my hands and like you said yourself, I get bored.”

Nicky snorted. “Andy and Nile not enough to keep you entertained?”

“I have more fun with you,” Joe replied, quickly, hopping to his feet. Nicky’s heart ached. “So, what are you going to do?” Joe asked, looking down at Nicky with an expectant expression.

Nicky rolled his eyes. “I am going to finish my job up, and then I will call you.” Hearing lies were sweet, but telling them left his mouth tasting like ash.

“Promise?” Joe asked.

“Promise,” he whispered. He wanted to scream.

Joe nodded, seemingly satisfied, and started to walk towards the door. Nicky was suddenly scrambling to his feet, chasing after Joe. He couldn’t let the last thing he say to Joe be a lie. “Wait, Joe,” he said, his voice heavy with emotion. What could he say to the man he’d want to tell everything? There would be nothing that he could ever string together that would be a fraction of what he wanted to say. “Be safe,” he settled on, trying to convey every ounce of love he had left. “I hope the flowers in Austria are as beautiful as I remember.”

Joe gave him a long look, his face indecipherable. “I’m sure they are. But I won’t know.” He opened the door and stepped into the hallway, turning to look over his shoulder one final time to give Nicky a soft smile. “Like I would go without you.”

Then he was gone, and Nicky’s soul went with him. He stood frozen – frozen in time, like he always was – as he heard Joe’s retreating footprints quiet until they were gone.

Nicky couldn’t help it; he started to laugh, wet and ugly, fat tears streaming down his face. He should have ran for it while he had the chance.

 _“Promise?”_ Joe had said.

Nicky wanted to be sick.

He tore his eyes away from the door and stumbled into his bedroom, flopping face first onto his bed.

Nicky thought of the newspaper that was still sitting in his hallway. He technically didn’t lie about everything to Joe; he _did_ have some loose ends to take care of. What he’d neglected to tell Joe was that they were his loose ends. The disaster at Merrick’s office was being blasted by every news station, in multiple countries. While the initial reports declared Merrick himself as committing suicide, jumping from the top of his penthouse, there were too many questions and not enough answers for what had also transpired there.

In Nicky’s opinion, the 21st century was the most dangerous one he’d lived through. Everything was faster and louder and smarter. It was near impossible to slip between the cracks of history, like he’d done for so long before. But he wasn’t the only one he had to worry about.

There were already a multitude of evidence online, blurry pictures of bodies, shaky videos of gunfire and screaming. What had happened at Merrick’s was practically explosive, and there was already too much out there to get this swept under the rug properly. Joe, Andy, Booker – Nile, too – were too exposed, and Nicky couldn’t just sit back and let them take that risk.

Their direct friendship may be over – a wave of nausea lodged its way into Nicky’s throat, but he couldn’t dwell on it; he’d have plenty of time to sit alone with his thoughts knowing that he’d likely never see Joe again later. But that didn’t mean that he still couldn’t help them. His time of walking beside them was done, but he could still walk behind them, picking up the scraps they’d left behind. He could keep them safe, even at a distance. So that is what he would do. Tomorrow he would go to Merrick’s. He’d finish the job. And then, then he’d let himself grieve.

Nicky shut his eyes and prayed for a dreamless sleep. His wish was granted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nobody:
> 
> Me: Panicking because I wasted Malta as their first meeting, and now need somewhere where they inevitably live happily ever after in. 
> 
> Salzburg: ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	5. Chapter 5

“Stop sulking.”

“I’m not sulking.”

“Yes, you are.”

A long sigh emanated from the large lump on the couch. Joe was sprawled out on the cheap hotel furniture, face tucked away from them, towards the cushions. They were currently holed up for the night in a hotel just outside of Epsom. Copley had been very insistent about them all getting out of the country, but Nile was glad that they decided to push it off until the morning. Even more glad when Andy booked three separate rooms; Nile couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a space to herself. She had been looking forward to it – at least, that’s what she’d told herself.

To her surprise, however, she ended up staring at the empty room for a few minutes before making her way to Andy’s room. Her brain just couldn’t seem to shut off, and the idea of sitting alone with her own thoughts didn’t sound like a good time.

She’d worried that Andy wouldn’t let her in when she’d knocked – Lord knows that woman deserved time to herself as well – but Nile had been welcomed in with a smile. She’d jumped on to the second bed in Andy’s room, the pair sitting comfortably in silence as they watched some crap reality show. Joe had stomped in a few hours later, heading straight to the couch.

It seemed that none of them wanted to be alone just yet. The thought made Nile want to laugh. It was like she was in high school again, her friends sneaking out at night to get together, as the idea of waiting the few hours until the next school day was unbearable.

Andy was right. Joe was definitely sulking. While Nile and Andy had kicked off their shoes and changed into more comfortable clothing to settle in for the night, Joe was still dressed as he was earlier, even still wearing his leather jacket. He’d been out, and Nile had a sneaking suspicion where he was.

“Nile agrees with me,” Andy said. She must have caught her staring at the pouting man.

Joe rubbed a hand over his tired face. “I’m sure she does,” he groaned. “Nile, tell Andy to shove it up her ass. I’m not sulking.”

Andy looked at her expectantly. This was a test, she knew, but she wasn’t sure of what. “Actually,” Nile said, Andy grinning at her. “You do kind of look sulky.”

“Great, another one,” Joe sighed.

“Is this because you want to bang Nicky?” It had just slipped out, really. She certainly hadn’t meant to voice her comments aloud, but _whoops,_ guess she was more tired than she thought.

Andy burst out laughing. Joe twisted his body around on the couch to stare at her with wide eyes. “What?” he asked. “What the hell are you talking about?”

 _In for a penny, in for a pound,_ she thought. “Oh, was I not supposed to know that you wanted to? Or, _oh God,”_ Nile moaned, clapping a hand over her mouth as Andy cackled behind her. “Did _you_ not know that you wanted to?”

Joe looked at her, jaw slackened in disbelief.

“Please don’t let it be that,” Nile begged. “Because I am _so_ not equipped for that conversation right now. I just assumed, being as old as you are, you would have had your gay panic already.”

 _“Gay panic,”_ Andy crowed through giggles, clutching at her sides.

“I-I don’t—,” Joe started.

“Oh, I am so happy that I get to witness this conversation,” Andy said, wiping at her eyes.

“Andy—”

“One day, Joe! It took the kid one day to figure it out, so don’t even start on your bullshit.”

Nile sent Joe an apologetic look, mouthing _‘sorry’_ at him. This can of worms seemed to be a hot and repetitive topic, if she had to guess from Andy’s reaction.

In all honesty, she had initially assumed that Joe and Nicky already were together. After leaving Andy to shower, Nile had found herself in search of their new host, curious as to where he wanted them to put their bloody clothes. It was outrageous that she was now living a life where that question was going to me more commonplace; almost as outrageous as knowing that asking the question to Nicky probably wouldn’t even phase him.

She had heard him back in the bedroom and Nile had poked her head in cautiously. In the room, Nicky had been bickering with Joe in rapid-fire Italian. She didn’t know the language, but it had looked as if Nicky was arguing with Joe on a sweatshirt that he was holding, presumably Nicky’s. The words had been sharp, but Nile saw the barely contained smiles on the pair, both men whining good-naturedly and shoving at each other like kids on a playground.

When Nicky had turned around and caught her gaze, Nile had barely been able to contain her gasp, her thoughts being interrupted by a strong sense of déjà vu. _She had seen this closet before._ At first she’d thought it ridiculous, as she’d never been there before that night, but she had. She’d seen it in her dreams.

That first time she’d dreamed of them all, her new family, it had been traumatizing. Her thoughts had run wild with visions of each of the others, her brain switching between the scenes at breakneck speed, as if channel flipping on a television. There was so much all at once, the dreams an overloading data dump of the lives that were now entwined with hers. There had been so much to sift through, and the thought of it had made her head throb. Apparently, she hadn’t been alone in that respect. Booker had told her it had taken the other three of them to piece together enough information to find her.

Nile hadn’t planned on thinking much more on her dreams – what with having found the others and knowing what had happened with Quynh – but seeing that closet again had been like throwing the dream back in her face.

She had seen Nicky standing in front of his closet, hands on his hips. He’d turned to face Nile, or where Nile would have been standing if she had been actually there – eyes wide and mouth open as if he had been mid conversation. But then the dream shifted, as if switching camera angles, and she had seen Joe sleeping. In the dream, Nicky hadn’t been looking at her. He must have been looking towards the bed, to where Joe had been sleeping. 

Seeing the pair of them standing in front of Nicky’s closet, now, along with her dreams, had convinced Nile that they were already together. Maybe Joe had snuck off to London to see Nicky before meeting with the rest of them in France; by the way they acted, it didn’t seem like too far of a stretch. It certainly would have explained why he knew exactly where to find Nicky’s apartment earlier. Besides, if any one of them was going to play hookie, Nile would have bet all her money on Joe.

Maybe that was why she’d been so drawn by Nicky when first meeting him, been so transfixed by those eyes. Because they’d already stared at her. The closet had been exactly as she’d remembered. The only thing that was missing was a long black case that had been resting next to the gun safe. It was an odd shape, long and narrow, most likely housing an instrument. This time, however, it had been nowhere to be seen.

 _“Nile?”_ Nicky had asked, most likely wondering why she’d just come in to stare at them. She had shaken her head, embarrassed for having caught them in such an intimate moment. She had forgotten all about the question of the dirty clothes.

But then, to Nile’s astonishment, she’d discovered that they _weren’t_ together. She’d found herself studying the pair of them at dinner, and what had transpired was almost comical. Lingering gazes when the other wasn’t looking, so many almost touches at the table. When they did accidentally brush hands, you’d have thought they’d touched the ends of a live wire. It was tragic, really.

She had wished her mom was there, in the moment, to laugh along with her. Growing up, she’d wasted so many weekends with her mother on the couch, throwing barbs and popcorn at the television as they watched whatever trash the Hallmark Channel had thrown together.

 _“I can’t believe people watch this shit,”_ she had said. _“This is so unrealistic!”_

 _“To be fair,”_ her mother had countered. _“We’re watching this shit, too.”_

It had been a tradition of sorts, picking apart the unbelievable romances that played out on screen. Turned out they were more believable than initially thought. _Hallmark would make a fortune off of these two,_ Nile had thought. 

“If I would have known this was going to be a topic of conversation, I would have just stayed in my own room,” Joe replied. Nile thought of the way Joe had just stomped into Andy’s room without so much of a hello, flopping onto the couch dramatically. _Sure,_ Nile thought. _You didn’t want to talk about Nicky, my ass. Just like high school, indeed._

Andy chuckled, probably thinking along the same lines as Nile before standing up, groaning softly. “Keep an eye on Grumpy,” she said, looking at Nile. “I’m going to get something to eat.”

Nile wanted to protest. She didn’t like the idea of Andy walking around with a hole in her side; that and, she and Joe hadn’t really had the time to get to know each other properly. She shouldn’t be the one having this conversation with him. That being said, Andy did shoot her point blank within hours of knowing her, almost crashing a plane just for the fun of it right after. Andy probably wasn’t a good option either, so Nile just nodded, watching Andy head over to the door.

“Bring me something,” Joe said from the couch.

“And why’s that?” Andy asked, eyes twinkling in delight.

Joe let out another long sigh. “Because I’m sulking,” he answered in defeat.

“Thatta boy,” Andy laughed, opening the door and stepping out.

“Listen,” Nile said slowly, ignoring the way Joe banged his head against the cushions. “We don’t have to talk about it anymore, just let me say one last thing!” she added in response. “If this is one of those things that you’re worried that he doesn’t like you that way, I _really_ don’t think you have to worry about it. I mean, you should have seen the way he was looking at you, man.”

“Nicky looks at everyone like that.”

“Fair point,” Nile laughed awkwardly. “He certainly does, uh, stare. A lot. But,” she continued, “he looks at you the most. If that helps?”

Another sigh. “Thanks, Nile.”

Nile cursed Andy for leaving her with this mess. “You should just go for it. I know that I can count the number of things I’m sure about being immortal on one hand, but I do know one thing. We’re immortal, not celibate. I think you’re allowed to enjoy yourself every now and again.”

Joe smiled. “Andy teach you that one?” 

“She didn’t need to. It was implied.” 

Joe laughed at that. “Yeah,” he said, but his grin slipped away. “I don’t want to bang Nicky.” 

“Joe, you don’t have to—”

“I don’t want to _just_ bang Nicky.” 

Nile paused, the pieces falling into place. “Oh,” was all she could say.

“Yeah, _oh.”_

Well that certainly complicated things. And another reason why she shouldn’t be the one having this conversation with Joe. _Andy, you coward,_ she thought. Love was something she barely understood as a twenty-six year old; she definitely didn’t know what to do about it as an immortal. 

The red flags were plain as day. Nicky would age, Joe would not. She thought of Booker, and how he’d told her about what happened with his family. How the love they’d shared was shattered by spite and rage, leaving Booker broken and alone. It was because of him that she’d made the decision to never go back to her own family; a reason that she had to keep reminding herself of, each day. She didn’t want the remaining memories of her family to be like that; she wanted to be able to remember the good times they’d had together. She wanted to remember the weekends sat watching the Hallmark channel. 

Nicky was still sort of an enigma to her, and didn’t seem like the type of man to turn scornful at Joe’s immortality, but it didn’t take away from the inevitable pain of Joe having to move on once Nicky was gone. _Are we meant to be alone forever?_ she couldn’t help but think. The dating pool for them was now basically non-existent, and even on the chance that she would eventually cross paths with an immortal that she could find herself be with - well, the thought of Andy and Quynh was enough to stop that train. 

Booker’s actions seemed to get more understandable with each passing hour.

“I’m sorry,” Nile said, unsure of what more to say. “I’m sure this is less than helpful, and probably not what you want to hear, but I can see why you like him. He’s sort of an odd duck, but,” she shrugged. “You’d be good together.” 

Joe smiled softly, his gaze far away. No doubt thinking about Nicky. “Thank you, Nile.” This man was a tragedy, really. 

“Now, as recompense,” she said, pushing at Joe’s feet to make room for her on the couch. “I’ll let you in on a secret of mine.” 

“Nile, you don’t have to—” 

“I absolutely do,” she replied. “When I was growing up, my friends and I had a very strict code. You spill someone else’s secret, you spill one of yours.” 

“Is that so?” Joe smiled. 

Nile hummed. “Fair’s fair,” she answered. “I can tell you about the time that my pants fell down in church.” 

Joe snorted, throwing his feet back into Nile’s lap. “Really?”

“Oh yeah,” Nile chuckled. “I was on the altar, in front of the whole congregation and everything. I was holding the Bible for the pastor as he did the reading. It was quite the sight, let me tell you. It was all people could talk about for months.” 

Joe grinned, shoulders shaking in laughter. “You’re lying,” he said. 

“Am not,” Nile chastised, slapping one of Joe’s legs. “You remember gauchos? They were all the rage when I was growing up, and I was so excited when my mom got me a pair. Turns out they weren’t the right size. You can imagine where this is going.” 

Joe laughed again, eyes twinkling, as he sat and listened to her with rapt attention. _Yes,_ she couldn’t help but think again. _You would be good together._

* * *

* * *

_“Early riser?”_

_Nile startled, hands immediately going for the handgun she’d tucked in her pocket when she’d left the bedroom. Nicky was seated in one of the kitchen chairs, looking at her expectantly. He hadn’t even flinched when the gun trained on him._

_Nile slipped the gun back in the hem of her pants, shrugging in embarrassment. “Routine, I guess.”_

_Nicky hummed, leaning back in his chair. He’d been sitting in the dark, so still that Nile hadn’t even caught his shadow. There was a book next to him, but it was closed. No way he’d be able to see anything in this dark; Nile could barely make out the cover page. The only thing she could focus on clearly were Nicky’s eyes that seemed to glow in the darkened room, almost like a cat. Like staring into the Milky Way._

_She wanted to ask what he was doing, but then noticed where he was sitting. Facing out into the rest of the apartment, chair sitting suspiciously between the sitting room and the back bedroom. Nile turned to look in the front room where Booker was sleeping, and then back towards the bedroom, where Joe and Andy were. Nope, definitely not out here to read, Nile thought to herself._

_“Did you sleep well, at least?”_

_“I slept,” Nile answered. “Counting that as a win, for now.”_

_Nicky smiled at her. “Sometimes, that is the best we can ask for. It can be hard to slow down, after a job.”_

_Nile nodded, unsure of what to say. Maybe she should retreat to the bedroom. All she could feel was the heat from Nicky’s stare, as if he were staring right through her, peeling her apart layer by layer until he knew all her secrets._

_“How long have you been with them?” Nicky asked. “The team, I mean. The last time I spoke with Joe, he didn’t mention you.”_

_I’m sure he fucking didn’t, Nile thought. He didn’t even know she existed. “Uh, started this week, actually.”_

_Nicky chuckled. “Starting with a bang, eh?” he replied. “I would say that it’s atypical, but your new coworkers are strong believers in baptism by fire.”_

_“Yeah,” Nile snorted. “I kinda gathered that.”_

_“Would you like to sit?” He gestured to the other kitchen chairs. Nile shrugged, grabbing one of the chairs and dragging in over next to Nicky. She sat down, gingerly, not really sure what she was planning on doing there. The pair sat in silence for a few minutes._

_“Would you like to tell me why you’re really awake?” Nicky asked innocently. Nile stared at him, but he kept looking forward. “You don’t have to,” he shrugged. “I am more than content to sit with you in silence, if that’s what you need.”_

_Nile bit her lip, rubbing at her hands. What did she need? “I couldn’t sleep,” she answered honestly._

_“We’ve all had bad dreams,” Nicky answered knowingly._

_“Most of them are gone, now,” Nile said carefully, trying to phrase it in a way that wouldn’t incur further questions. “And the ones that are left, I know I can deal with them. But dreams are one thing.” She paused. “Memories are another.”_

_“Oh?”_

_Nile bit her lip. What was she doing, talking to Nicky about this? She barely knew the man, but sitting her next to him, she felt more comfortable than she had sitting next to her closest comrades on base. She’d felt this way with the rest of the team, but Nicky had a certain ageless wisdom about him that intrigued her; he had the face of someone you could tell anything to, and not have to worry about judgement. Like her pastor. Besides, with the rest of the team being who they were, and as old as they were, there were just some things that they couldn’t understand, because they hadn’t needed to understand for centuries. Talking with someone normal was exactly what she needed. Maybe the team did as well, considering that they risked becoming friends with Nicky. Someone to offer advice and assistance when required, or just lend an ear every once in a while. Someone to keep them human. Maybe young, sexy Dumbledore’s really were real._

_“I killed someone,” she admitted, her chest already feeling lighter. “Well, a lot of someone’s, actually,” she chuckled nervously, thinking of the body count she’d left at Merrick’s. “But this week, it was the first time that I’d…” she trailed off._

_“First time you killed someone?”_

_She nodded numbly. “I can still see him,” she whispered. “I can see him die in front of me, over and over again.” She could also remember the way his blade had sliced across her neck so effortlessly, but she wasn’t going to mention that part._

_“Was he trying to kill you?”_

_“Yes.” He did._

_Nicky hummed, still staring out into the darkened sitting room._

_“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” she asked._

_“Does it?”_

_Nile frowned. “No, not really.”_

_She saw Nicky smile then, huffing quietly. “I’ve found that no matter how much time passes, there are some things that you will never forget. It is not surprising that your first kill is so fresh in your mind; I do not think it will go anywhere anytime soon,” he said. “It can be painful, these memories. Usually the ones you remember are the most painful,” he added, flashing her another grin. “But I like to think that no matter how painful, these memories are necessary.”_

_“Necessary?”_

_“It can be easy to lose your way, especially with what we do,” Nicky explained. “It can be easy to forget the true value of life; or at least, view it differently that others around us.”_

_“Okay?”_

_“Memories like these keep us accountable,” Nicky continued. “It reminds us that every action has consequences, and for choices we make, we have to acknowledge that the consequences are worth burdening.”_

_“I’m not following.”_

_“I still remember mine.”_

_“The first person you killed?”_

_Nicky nodded. “It seems like it was lifetimes ago,” he chuckled. “I didn’t realize I had killed him until much later. I had wounded him, but I had let him get away.” He talked with a glazed look in his eyes, as if he were replaying the memory in his head. “But I found him again later. I knew it was him because I recognized his weapon. He’d bled out.”_

_Nicky paused, looking down at his hands. Nile had found herself doing that a few times, checking to see if there was still blood staining her fingers. “I remember the exact moment I figured out who he was. I had been a part of something that I barely understood, but I had been satisfied by false platitudes and promises. I saw his body and I waited, waited for the moment of triumph that had been sworn to me. Waited for the prize of glory, the payment for my purpose there.”_

_Nicky laughed wetly, and Nile noticed a stray tear slip down his cheek. “But it never came. I saw his body and I felt nothing but shame. I was young and foolish. I didn’t put much thought into the consequences of my actions. I was more than happy to just be a sword that didn’t ask any questions. I let myself become part of something that had no accountability. I had been so blind, but now, seeing that body was like throwing it in my face.”_

_“I’ve felt that way before,” Nile interjected. “There were a few times when I was with the Marines that I wondered what I was doing out there.”_

_Nicky hummed again. “As much as it still pains me to think about, I am glad that I have that memory. It is a lesson for me. I try to do good, we all do, but that memory pushes me to do more than try. The world can have such ugliness in it. I don’t want to add any more to it than I have to.”_

_Nile nodded. “That makes sense.”_

_“Taking life should not be easy,” Nicky continued. “The day it becomes easy, is the day you become truly lost.”_

_Nile thought about what had happened in the church, how Andy had just walked through the building like a grim reaper. She’d killed so many, and never blinked an eye. Nile couldn’t bear to think of a time that she’d find herself just like that. But then she thought of what Andy had said when Nile had confronted her about it. “You’ve gotta feel it, Nile. Every one.” Was this what she meant?_

_“I hope I was helpful,” Nicky said._

_“I think you were,” Nile replied. “If anything, it’s nice to know that I’m not alone.”_

_Nicky smiled at her again, his eyes soft and kind. “Can I tell you something?” he asked, continuing when Nile nodded. “I never even saw his face. The man I killed. Once I knew what I’d done, I couldn’t bring myself to look. I was too ashamed.”_

_Nicky shrugged. “But I can still see his sword. I can see his blood staining his clothes. I can see how still he was. That is enough for me; enough of a reminder,” Nicky said, nodding his head. “Who knows if I would be any different if I saw his face?”_

* * *

* * *

Joe glared, watching as Copley ushered them into the room. He’d sounded panicked when he’d called Andy this morning, claiming that they needed to head back to his place in Surrey immediately. He’d been so adamant to get them out of the country, but that had apparently changed. 

Joe still didn’t trust this man; he probably never would for the entire time they would work together. He hadn’t exactly been on board with Andy’s decision on letting him in on their team - if he could even call it that - but he also knew that there was no one better for the job. He’d spent years compiling info on their lives; he could just as easily spend that time erasing it, so no one else could find it. 

“Here,” Copley said, not even bothering to greet them properly. He pushed a few buttons on a keyboard and a video feed popped up on the screen in front of them. Joe knew that room. It was the lab in Merrick’s. 

“Merrick’s?” Nile asked. “Why are you looking at that?” 

“You all didn’t exactly leave the place as you found it,” Copley said. “The government is all over this place, trying to find answers.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, were we supposed to do everything?” Nile snapped. Joe was inclined to agree. What happened at Merrick’s wouldn’t have even happened if it wouldn’t have if it weren’t for Copley and Booker.

“No, but we can’t let this slip through the cracks,” Copley said, before looking at Joe. “I saw what they did. They took samples, they took my research. That didn’t just go away when you killed Merrick. Right now, there are too many loose ends here, and we don’t know who knows what.”

“Great,” Andy gritted. 

“I managed to hack into the security feeds, as well as their comm line to see if I can find some answers myself. Good news is that the government is planning to sweep this under the rug. After some light digging, it’s been made apparent that Merrick was doing some dealing on the side in the black market, no doubt to fund the research he was planning to do with you all,” Copley said. “Merrick was elbow deep with the government as well, so they can’t risk any of this going public. From what I understand, they’re leaning towards a disgruntled employee turned homicidal or a competitor turned desperate.” 

“You think people are going to buy that shit?” Nile replied. 

“You’d be surprised,” Copley answered. 

“So, what’s the bad news?” Andy demanded. “I’m assuming that’s the reason why you called us in.” 

“Yes,” Copley said. “That bad news, is this. No one has said anything about any samples or testing from the company. But, someone has been digging. Look,” he added, pointing to the screen. There, a woman appeared, flitting around the lab and piling things into her hands. 

“Wait, that’s the doctor.”

“Kozak,” Copley nodded. “I was scrolling through the feeds earlier when I saw her. I’m not sure how she managed to sneak her way in there. She’s been in the lab all morning, no doubt collecting the rest of the viable samples she took from Joe. I called you as soon as I saw what she was doing.”

Joe shuddered, thinking of the way she’d pierced into his body, taking piece upon piece from him. Watching her pick up the vials on the screen, vials that were filled with him, was violating. More so than when she’d cut into him.

“We need to get those samples,” Copley continued. “Better yet, we need to get Kozak. She knows too much and would be more than happy to share for the right price. In fact, it looks like she already has. Look here,” he said, pointing back to the screen. “This guy showed up about ten minutes ago. He’s been helping her collect the research and samples.”

Joe watched as an armed guard stepped into frame, walking over to where Kozak was seated at her desk. They began talking. “No audio through the cameras?” Joe asked.

“Afraid not. He’s not on comms, either,” Copley answered. “He’s wearing the same uniform as the other guards which suggests he’s with the government. But I don’t think so; Kozak wouldn’t risk turning the samples over to the government. She’d never see them again. Kozak wants them for herself; _she_ wanted to be the one to crack your genetic code.”

“So you think this guy is with her?” Nile asked.

“Either with her, or whomever her new payroll is. He’s been helping her take stuff out of the lab, but his route changes every time, and always seems to avoid running into anyone else that might question what he was doing.”

Joe frowned, looking at the pair on the screen. Kozak had moved fast, but with what she and Merrick had planned to do, it was easy to see why she wouldn’t sit around. For as much of a monster as Merrick was, Joe knew that his competitors would be just like him, if not worse. They’d pay billions for what Kozak now had. _Everybody has a price,_ he thought.

“She needs to be taken care of,” Andy said next to him, eyes hard as she glared at the camera footage. “This is live?” she asked. Copley nodded. “Good. Grab your gear,” she added. “Turns out we’re not done at Merrick’s.”

Joe hummed in agreement, more than happy to go a round two with the doctor, but a final glance at the video had him freezing, blood curdling in his veins.

“Joe, what—”

“Wait,” he whispered, moving closer to the footage to get a better view. _No,_ he thought. _It can’t be._

But it was. Full armor or not, Joe knew exactly who that man was. He knew because he knew the dagger that was strapped securely to the man’s side. Lightweight but absolutely deadly, intricate designs carved into the side, a smooth handle with inlaid jade. He knew because he had purchased that dagger, just four years previously, to replace a knife that had been lost on a job in Prague. 

_Nicky._

Nicky had always had a fascination with knives. He carries some with him everywhere, hidden away, only to pull them out of thin air if the need ever arose. Joe had always appreciated it, as it had gotten them out of more than a few binds before, but he was most appreciative of being given a chance to just watch Nicky wield said knives.

He always moved with such grace, as if he were dancing, the blades just an extension of himself. Joe could never bring his scimitar on missions with Nicky for obvious reasons, but he always itched for it when Nicky used his knives, wondering how they’d look together. Nicky held them like he was born to, and it always reminded Joe of the mastery of close hand combat that had been lost over time with the introduction of guns.

The knife itself had cost more than a pretty penny, but the look on Nicky’s face when he’d cradled the blade in his hands had paid for it, tenfold. He always felt a wave of satisfaction curl low in his gut when he saw Nicky with the knife he’d gifted him. Seeing it now, however, made Joe sick.

What the hell was he doing there?

Without so much as a second glance, Joe grabbed his new phone, dialing Nicky’s number, before turning his attention back to the screen. He saw Nicky twitch, hand going to his pocket and pulling out his phone, fingers hovering over the screen. Before putting it back in his pocket.

Joe scoffed, dialing again. He could argue that Nicky hadn’t saved his new contact information, but Joe knew him. He knew the way those eyes had drifted over the new numbers just the day before, already committing them to memory.

This time, Nicky looked up at the ceiling, as if in great annoyance. He said something to Kozak before walking to the other side of the room, putting the phone to his ear.

 _“Hello?”_ Nicky asked. Joe chewed the inside of his cheek. Nicky never greeted him with hello. It was always _‘Joe’_ said in a tone so precious that made Joe’s heart flutter every time. Nicky was looking back over at Kozak; clearly, he didn’t want her to know who he was talking to. Joe didn’t know what to make of that.

“Nicky,” he hissed.

“Wait, that’s Nicky?” he heard Nile ask, running back over to where Joe was standing.

“What the hell is he doing there?” Andy demanded.

 _Good question._ “Where are you?” Joe snapped into the phone.

He saw Nicky startle on the screen, even looking around the lab as if he were expecting Joe to pop out from behind one of the cabinets and yell _‘Surprise!’._ In any different scenario, it would have been fairly comical. Now, however, something sat uneasily in Joe’s stomach, almost akin to doubt. Something he hadn’t felt regarding Nicky in many years.

 _“I’m sorry?”_ came Nicky’s response. Although the camera couldn’t pick it up, he could imagine the look on Nicky’s face, brows furrowed and nose crinkled, the one he always made when he was confused. _“I’m not at my place, if that’s what you’re asking.”_

“It’s not,” Joe said. “I’m asking where you are.”

_“Is something wrong?”_

“No, nothing’s wrong,” Joe answered, before pausing. He hoped nothing was wrong. “Call it acute paranoia,” he said. “And that I would feel marginally better if you told me where you were.”

A soft huff of laughter sounded across the phone. Joe shivered, as if he could feel Nicky’s breath in his ear. _“If you insist,”_ came the response. _“I’m at the market. It seems that I’ve been eaten out of house and home.”_

Joe paled, looking over at Andy. “The market?” he repeated, Andy’s eyes widening before turning back to the screen.

 _“Yes.”_ He watched as Nicky turned back to Dr. Kozak, the woman placing a sealed container on the table next to Nicky. No doubt another container of research and samples for Nicky to smuggle out of the lab. _“Are you sure you’re alright?”_

 _No,_ Joe wanted to scream. This was the job that Nicky was on? No wonder he hadn’t said anything to Joe. Yesterday, it was clear that Nicky had figured out that Joe and the rest of them were responsible for the mess at Merrick’s. Of course he wasn’t going to let Joe know that he was working on the same mess.

 _“Just cleaning up some loose ends,”_ Nicky had said.

 _“They’re already speculating domestic terrorism for what happened at Merrick’s. You certainly cannot be out helping me with my job after that,”_ he had said.

“I’m fine,” Joe lied. “I’ll call you later,” he added, hanging up before Nicky could reply. He saw Nicky look down at his phone, as if contemplating calling Joe back, but slipped the phone back in his pocket, walking over to Kozak. 

“Wait, you know who this guy is?” Copley asked. “Get him back on the phone, we need to find him! Maybe he could—”

“He clearly isn’t going to tell me anything,” Joe snapped.

“Who is he?” 

“A freelancer,” Andy replied. “We’ve worked with him in the past.” 

“And now he’s found a new job,” Copley nodded. “If he’s working with Kozak to sell the info on the black market—” 

“How dare you,” Joe hissed. “He wouldn’t do that. You don’t know him.” 

“Do you?” Copley asked simply.

“Yes,” Andy answered, before Joe could strangle the man. Joe refused to go down that road when it came to Nicky. Not with everything that was so fresh with Booker. “Nicky chooses his work on his morals, not on his potential paycheck. He is always so careful with the jobs he takes, but that doesn’t mean he’s perfect. You’re right in the sense that we need to find him,” she said, looking at Copley. “But not for the reason that you think. There’s no chance that Nicky knows everything. And that puts him at risk.”

Joe paled. Andy was right. Nicky was more than capable of taking care of himself, but getting mixed up with this? Suddenly, his thoughts were presented with unwanted images, or Nicky strapped down on an operating table, Kozak leaning over him menacingly. 

“Let’s go,” he said, throwing his jacket back on. “We can still catch him.” 

The women nodded, getting ready themselves. He could feel Copley stare at him, but Joe didn’t bother acknowledging him. Instead, he dialed Nicky’s number again. It went straight to voicemail. _Please,_ Joe thought. _Don’t do anything stupid._

“Joe.” Andy’s hand wrapped around his shoulder, squeezing it gently. She leaned her face forward until she caught his gaze. “Hey, come on.” 

“He lied to me,” Joe said softly, looking at the camera footage, waiting for Nicky to reappear in the frame and wave, like it was all a big joke.

“Let’s not jump to any conclusions,” Andy replied next to him. Since when was Andy the rational one? “And to be fair, you lie to each other all the time.”

Joe scowled. It’s not like he wanted to lie to Nicky. He knew that Nicky didn’t like lying to him either. Both of them were just playing the hands they’d been dealt. Joe looked back at the footage of the now empty lab one last time. 

_What the hell are you doing, Nicolò?_


	6. Chapter 6

_It had been all too easy to get into the building. It was hardly surprising anymore; he’d had centuries of practice getting into places that he shouldn’t be. Lifetimes of training of wearing different hats, assuming different identities. Every time he slipped on a new outfit was like slipping on another well-worn mask. He was completely at ease in someone else’s skin. In someone else’s life. He’d spent more years pretending to be others than he had being himself._

_Nicky stalked through the halls slowly, eyes sweeping each inch of the hallway as he passed. The uniform he’d “acquired” - with many thanks to the poor sap that was now hidden in some storage closet - didn’t quite fit right, but he’d paid it no mind. He’d had much worse fits before._

_He had already made an entire sweep of the area. The building was crawling with government agents, all too busy to spare Nicky a second glance as he walked by. What happened with Merrick was still circulating heavily in the news; he imagined it would be that way for some time._

_Earlier that morning, once he’d finally given up on sleep, Nicky had sat hunched over his laptop, reading anything and everything he could on Merrick. Being the youngest CEO in the pharmaceutical world, Steven Merrick seemed to have been making great waves. Most of the articles on him - minus the ones recently published on his untimely death - were about a cancer drug that he’d recently produced. There were also a large smattering of whistle-blowing articles on the company’s ethics, or lack thereof._

_Nicky had already heard ‘black market’ being thrown around by some of the agents he’d tailed earlier, so it wasn’t difficult to paint a picture. Based on past interviews he’d watched of Merrick this morning, he seemed like the type of weasel that would encourage dealing under the table for a few extra quid._

_Good news for Nicky, was that his research also informed him that Merrick Pharmaceuticals had an outstanding contract with the English government for their military and executive healthcare. It would explain why they were so interested in involving themselves in the investigation. The last thing the federal government would want made public was that their leading healthcare contractor was also selling to their enemies. It looked as if the government was going to cover this one up themselves. Which meant there was little here to do for Nicky, and more importantly, little more needed to be done to keep Joe and the others out of the spotlight._

_He couldn’t help but feel curiosity gnawing in his gut. What had Joe’s role been in all of this? If Nicky had to guess, someone had found out about Merrick’s nefarious pastime, and had contracted the others to take care of it. Stopping black market dealing was a very Joe thing to do._

_But it didn’t seem like the full picture. Exposing a fraud was something you did in the paper, not with automatic weapons. It seemed too messy for Andy to let her team get involved in. No, he was missing something._

_Which is why he was perusing through the building again. He shouldn’t stay much longer; Nicky doubted anyone would catch him, but he didn’t want to push it. Although most of the carnage of what had happened there was gone, what had been left behind painted quite a gruesome picture. Bullet holes littered the walls around him, mixed with smatterings of blood stains. In fact, the amount of blood left behind was truly shocking, and it reminded Nicky of grotesque scenes found in horror films. It looked as if whoever’s blood this was, had been went at with an axe, rather than a gun._

_He thought of the blood that he’d seen covering Joe and the others when they’d shown up at his flat. Nicky shuddered at the thought of them being in the middle of this. Why hadn’t Joe called him for help? He knew Nicky was in London; Nicky had sent him his new address months ago, when he’d first moved back._

_Joe and the rest of them took many jobs without Nicky’s aid, and Nicky had forced himself not to think about all the things that could happen without an immortal watching their six. For good reason, too. Being presented with such a horrific aftermath was enough to make Nicky nauseous._

_Andy had said the job had gone wrong, and no shit, she was right. Maybe the team had been sent in for a quiet retrieval, and Merrick took less than kindly to it, which resulted in this massacre? Even so, what did any of this have to do with Booker? It was clear that something else happened here that had disjointed the Frenchman from the rest of them._

_Nicky sighed, looking around the empty hallway. There were too many questions, and he wasn’t going to get any more answers here. He was just poking at straws, finding reason for him to stay involved with Joe for a little while longer._

_Time to go, he thought. He turned left, opting to make a final sweep through the labs before sneaking out the back. This solo walkthrough, however, was stopped by another presence fluttering around the lab._

_She moved quickly and sporadically, hopping from table to table, placing jars and tubes in what looked to be a cooler. She froze when she heard him come in. By the look on her face, it was clear that she wasn’t supposed to be here. Lucky for him, she didn’t know that he also wasn’t supposed to be here._

_Kozak. Dr. Kozak, Nicky thought. He’d seen her face in many of the articles he’d read about Merrick that morning. She’s his lead researcher, or was, more accurately. Nicky prowled over to her, like a cat stalking his prey. She’d have answers for him._

_“What are you doing in here?” he asked, voice gruff._

_She jumped at the harshness of his tone, dropping the box on the table she was standing in front of to dig through her pockets frantically. “I work here,” she said, thrusting an ID card at him for him to read._

_“I am all too sure that you could have pieced together that the labs are closed today,” Nicky replied, ignoring the badge as he stopped in front of the table she stood by. “And even knowing that, you came anyway. Why?” he asked. “Is it because of these?” He reached for the box, flipping off the lid. It was filled with red vials, red with blood if he had to guess, and a mixture of jars containing floating samples of well, something._

_“My research,” Kozak replied. “I couldn’t just leave it here. It’s important.”_

_“Important enough to risk a felony?”_

_“A felony?”_

_“You are breaking and entering,” Nicky said with a shrug. “I’ll have to report you.”_

_“You can’t!” Kozak cried. “I know what you boys are going to do. You’re going to sweep this all under the rug like it never happened and hide everything away under lock and key. I can’t let you do that with my research.”_

_This might be something, Nicky thought. “What are you studying?” he asked, looking back down in the box. One of the jars held what looked like an alarmingly large chunk of bone. “Human experimentation?”_

_“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kozak scoffed. “Our test subjects were voluntary.”_

_Nicky frowned, looking at the back wall. There, lined in a neat row were three hospital beds, each with industrial grade straps on them. “You sure about that?”_

_Kozak didn’t reply._

_“I think I’m going to have to report these.”_

_“Don’t!” Kozak snapped, jamming the lid back on the box of samples. “Listen, you can’t_ — _,” she sighed, pausing. “I knew what Steven was doing, alright? That’s why you guys are here, because of what he sold on the black market, right?”_

_Nicky nodded. Guess that’s one thing confirmed._

_“But this,” she said, pointing to the box, “this doesn’t have anything to do with that. This is too important to bury. Any drug that Merrick sold is just chump change compared to what’s in here.”_

_That did make Nicky pause. Merrick’s cancer drug had been a gold mine for his people - what could be so much more lucrative?_

_“What are these?”_

_Kozak paused, looking at Nicky. He knew what was coming. She’d have to try and talk her way out of here somehow. “A very nice retirement fund for you, if you help me get these out of here.”_

_There it is. It’s always money._

_Nicky paused himself, pretending to mull it over. “They’re that important?”_

_“These can change the world.”_

_“A fine justification,” Nicky replied, scoffing. He’d heard it so many times before. He looked at the vials that Kozak had in her hands. Was this what it was all about? Maybe Merrick’s black market dealings were just an untimely coincidence. Were these samples why Joe and the rest of them were here? If it was the reason, it begged the question of who they were working for._

_These can change the world, Kozak had said. In Nicky’s experience, people who said things like that believed that to be true, no matter how deranged they were. But what they failed to see was that it would change the world in their favor, based on their own tainted, rose-colored glasses. Which, really, meant these samples would lead to one of two things. Either some miracle drug that had some devastating side effect that was being “workshopped” by Kozak’s “willing” volunteers, or it was something worse. Chemical warfare. Please don’t let that be it, Nicky thought. His throat still burned at the memories of mustard gas and napalm; he still considered them some of the worst ways he’d died over the course of his life._

_What the hell have you gotten yourself mixed up in, Joe? Nicky wondered. Whatever Kozak was holding was a ticking time bomb. If Nicky knew one thing, it was that those samples could not be left in her possession. That being said, if they really were as dangerous as he was assuming, Nicky certainly couldn’t leave the samples with the government either._

_He should call Joe. His intent of cleaning up loose ends had just managed in creating more. Joe and the others would be the only ones that could fill in the gaps. But Andy had pulled Cologne on him. No questions, she had said._

_You just can’t leave well enough alone, can you, Nicolò? he thought. He looked back over at Kozak, who stared at him expectantly. Regardless of Joe’s involvement, these samples were his new priority. He needed to keep an eye on them. Nicky considered eliminating Kozak there and then, but it left him with a less than opportune exit strategy. He knew the security cameras were still running, and while he was confident he’d be able to slip away undetected, leaving the body of Kozak would certainly raise some eyebrows. If no one else knew about the samples, they’d be more than adamant on finding them if Nicky killed her and took off with them._

_Nicky tilted his head slightly, as if considering her offer. “How much?” he asked._

_Kozak grinned like a hyena. Simple minds are so easily satisfied. “There will be too many zeros on the number to fit on the check. You’ll make rich men look penniless.”_

_Nicky barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. “We’ll work on the exact amount later,” he said. “But if I’m going to help you, you’re going to have to meet me halfway.”_

_“What did you have in mind?”_

_“If these are as valuable as you say,” Nicky replied, pointing to the glassware in her hands, “then I’m going to need some cooperation on your part. I won’t risk everything if you won’t take any precaution. It’s a miracle you managed to make it this far on your own. You let me worry about getting us out of here, you worry about getting me paid. Sound good?”_

_I’m going to keep an eye on you, and you’re going to let me, was what he meant._

_Kozak smiled again, seemingly pleased and stretched a hand out for him to take. He did, shaking it soundly._

_Nicky smiled back. Too easy._

* * *

* * *

Nicky peered out the window, the courtyard outside still and lifeless until - _yes, right on schedule._ Doors of the surrounding buildings seemed to open at the same time, young students scurrying out of their droll classrooms into fresh-aired freedom. Their faces were bright and innocent, their mouths and minds moving a million kilometers a second. 

_Maybe I should go to school again,_ he thought. He’d been multiple times, in multiple places, studying multiple subjects. Some subjects he did out of appreciation and interest, others just for something to do. He liked being in school; he liked the structure of it. He liked having something to do - having something that someone _told_ him to do. It was nice not having to figure things out on his own every once in a while. 

It was always new, every time. Even when he’d gone back to school for the same degree, he’d been surprised by how much had changed. _How could they keep coming up with ways to change math? Math was math, was it not?_

Now, he was presented with a familiar scene - one that he’d seen every Tuesday and Thursday for the last few weeks. A perky brunette with wild curls that was always bundled in a thick red scarf would be the first out the door, rushing across the grass to get to the building on the other side, just to stop at the last second and lean against a tree casually, like she was just there on accident. Moments later, a hulking jock stepped out, trailed by a gaggle of giggling women, laughing at a joke that was almost assuredly not funny. They all walked past the red-scarfed girl, and she said something to the man, like she always did, and he barely bothered with a response, like he always did, before continuing on with his own groupies. _He’s just not worth it,_ Nicky wanted to tell her. 

Nicky turned away, losing interest in the endless game of cat and mouse, looking around the lab he was currently sat in. They were in Aberdeen, the University of Aberdeen to be precise. Kozak - _Meta,_ as she kept reminding him - was good friends with one of the tenured professors here and had agreed to let her make use of empty lab space. _Research_ was what she’d told him she was doing. Apparently, that was more than sufficient to gain full access to campus labs with no questions asked. 

She’d wanted to come here to, well, do research on those samples he’d helped her take from Merrick’s. Nicky had to hand it to her, she was very determined, and seemed to have her whole plan flushed out before Nicky had even agreed to help her. She’d been aware of Merrick’s black market dealings, and while she knew that whatever she possessed would get her a pretty penny, it seemed that the triumph of discovery was more tantalizing to her than a quick pay out. Not that money wasn’t a factor. No, Kozak had told Nicky licit avenues did have its perks - whatever she was inevitably going to market and sell, would market and sell better in a larger, more legal market. Besides that, Merrick’s competitors had been after her for years - now, she just had to wait and see who offered the biggest paycheck.

Kozak was shallow and foolish in a way that Nicky had seen thousands of times before. Blinded by her own ferality on the quest for notoriety and academic greed. No matter how well she’d thought her plan out, she would be her own inevitable downfall. _Another Icarus._ Of course, it probably wouldn’t come to that. Nicky would put a stop to her long before that. 

When Kozak had told him about Aberdeen - somewhere for her to continue her studies while Merrick’s competitors fought over her like a bone - Nicky saw his opportunity. He’d agreed to take her there, with her own agreement to let him worry about everything else. He’d already seen past Kozak’s false platitudes; he knew she’d try and drop him as soon as she could. 

Unless he was useful. A tool for her to use. Nicky had scoffed at the thought. _Who really is the tool here?_ He’d gotten her out of England without so much as a stumble. He’d disappeared into the pages of history more times than he could ever count; smuggling a deranged doctor over country lines was child’s play. They’d already seen reports on the news that came on the television of whatever back alley hotel they were staying in that night. Meta Kozak had been pronounced missing, nowhere to be found. _And they’ll never find her._ Nicky knew that. So did Kozak. 

She’d been impressed with his skills. Kozak had assumed it was because Nicky had experience with shadier operations before - she’d made plenty of comments insinuating it - but Nicky hadn’t corrected her. The less straight and narrow he was in her eyes, the more useful he became. 

Which is why he was here, watching her work another long day in a lab at the University of Aberdeen. She was hunched over a microscope, only looking away to quickly scribble something down in her notebook before resuming her original position. In terms of work, it was boring, watching her day in and day out. But it was by no means the longest he’d watched a target; he’d once spent months tailing a mark. All that work for him to just die in a car accident. Life was funny that way. 

At least she was predictable. Quiet and regimented, which Nicky could appreciate. The days bled together, as each day was the same as the last. She was amenable to Nicky’s demands when it came to travel and lodging, the woman more focused on continuing her work than staying at a nicer hotel. Since reaching Aberdeen, most of his time was spent watching Kozak in the lab, waiting for her to reveal her next move. It had been slow going. He’d even gone as far as asphyxiating himself a few days ago, just to see if she would notice him slump in his seat, lying dead for a few moments. She hadn’t. 

He sighed, loud enough for her to hear it. He’d been doing it consistently over the past few hours, waiting for the moment in which she couldn’t ignore him anymore. Now, it seemed, was the time, as she looked over at him with a huff, glaring his way for the interruption. 

“What is it?” 

Nicky shrugged. “Bored,” he said. “I thought we were meeting with someone,” he said casually. 

“We are. Tomorrow.” Nicky almost smiled at the word _we._ Kozak had been using it more and more. Not _I. We._ With each passing day, her walls dropped around him. He kept his face open and earnest, delicate questions asked curiously about her work. Kozak had skirted around most of it but had still given plenty away. Nicky knew when someone liked the sound of their own voice. Dr. Kozak was one such individual.

It was because of Nicky’s gentle prodding that he’d been able to learn that Kozak was narrowing in on a new benefactor. It was between another English company, Walker Labs, or an American conglomerate, the Cascade Corporation. 

“They should be leaving soon to make it in time for our meeting afternoon, here.” _Long flight,_ Nicky thought. _Looks like Cascade was the winner._

Nicky sighed, making his disinterest evident on his face. _Come on, Doctor. You can give me more than that. Tell me more._

She didn’t take the bait. Instead, she shot him another dirty look. “You need to be more patient.” 

What she didn’t know was that he was more patient than she could ever imagine. Nicky had all the time in the world. But he wasn’t Nicky right now. No, he was just some disgruntled government employee that had more than enough red in his record, and not enough money in his pocket. Kozak had asked him his name, a name for the new mask he was wearing. As he hadn’t known he’d be wearing a new identity until meeting Kozak, he’d panicked and said the first thing that had come to mind. 

“Joe.” _Nicolò, you pathetic man,_ he thought. 

“Joe,” Kozak’s voice rang out again. “I need you to do something for me.” 

Nicky hummed in response. 

“We’ve been presented with a rare opportunity.” There was that word again. _We._

“Oh?” 

“Our new potential partners have been doing some digging on their own,” Kozak said. “They’ve managed to uncover another sample for us, so to say.” 

“You want me to get the other samples?” Nicky asked. “Are they still at Merrick’s? The government has been all over that building; whatever you left in there is gone for good.” 

“No, no, it’s not in the lab,” she replied. “This sample is a little bit more, well, _mobile.”_

Nicky couldn’t help the stony gaze he sent Kozak’s way. Mobile, she said. _Living,_ was what she meant. He thought of the restraining straps on the beds he’d been in the lab. Voluntary or not - which Nicky _highly suspected_ they were _not -_ everything about this screamed inhumane practices. He knew in his heart this is why Joe and the rest of them were at Merrick’s; they’d tried to stop this. Had tried to stop Merrick and Kozak. They’d succeeded with Merrick, but Kozak was still here, standing right in front of him. 

He could kill her, right here and now. The thought had occurred to him many times, over the time they’d spent together. It would be laughably easy to stage everything as an accident and make off with the samples. But Nicky couldn’t. He knew that as much Kozak thought she was holding all the cards, she was still a pawn. She had showed her full hand to them, to Cascade, so Nicky knew that the job wouldn’t be over until they were all out of the picture. 

They were moving a bit quicker than he had anticipated, but if Cascade had found one of the test subjects, it would make sense why they were so eager to seal the deal. If they were moving things up, so would Nicky. He knew that as soon as Kozak handed everything over to Cascade, he’d never be able to wrap this up neatly. He knew he was pushing it, but Kozak meeting with Cascade presented him with a _rare opportunity,_ as Kozak would say. They’d all be together, discussing a deal that they’d never cash in on. A perfect chance to strike two birds with one stone. 

“You want me to kidnap someone?” he asked. 

Kozak laughed. “How many times do I have to tell you all our subjects were voluntary?” _How many times did you have to tell yourself?_ Nicky wanted to ask. 

“If it was voluntary, why aren’t they here, now? You make it seem like they’ve fallen off the radar.” 

“They have, so to speak,” Kozak agreed. “The armed attack at Merrick’s would be enough to send anyone packing,” she continued. “I told you. Someone found out what we were doing, and they wanted the knowledge for themselves. Who knows what they would have done to our subjects if we hadn’t gotten them out in time?” 

Nicky bit the inside of his lip, hard. She was good at telling a story, Nicky had to hand it to her. “If what happened at Merrick’s was another competitor trying to steal your data and testing, how do you know it wasn’t Cascade?” 

Kozak laughed again, an ugly and brittle thing. “It wasn’t.”

“But how do you know?” 

She sighed, suddenly frustrated with his questioning. “I just do,” she snapped. Nicky decided not to push. While he was able to piece together some information from Kozak, he was still nowhere close to the full picture. It didn’t matter right now. What he knew was all he needed to know. What Kozak was handling was dangerous. Joe and the others had tried to stop it, so that’s what he would do as well. 

“I don’t mean to snap, but I’m a bit on edge,” Kozak continued. “I’m so close to getting them on board. Which means you’re so close to that paycheck I promised you.” 

“If this testing is what you say it is, it should be easy to strike a deal,” Nicky replied. 

Another half-truth she’d told him, the samples themselves. He’d been glad that what Kozak seemed to be working on was the lesser of two evils, a miracle drug, not chemical warfare. That being said, when she’d told Nicky about her work, he could barely contain his own laughter. 

She’d said that the subjects had some sort of gene mutation, a genetic code that could help others who suffered from deficiencies. 

How many times had he been told that? Over the course of his lifetime, Nicky had been unfortunate enough to be “studied” for lack of a better term. Others had found out about his immortality - he wasn’t perfect - and it never ended well for him. It never ended well for his captors, either. Nicky had always been slow to anger, but once it was there, it was there to stay. None of his escapes painted pretty pictures. 

“But that’s the thing,” Kozak sighed, pulling him from his thoughts. “The current samples aren’t enough to appease them.” 

Nicky frowned. “What else do they want?” He paused. “The test subject?”

Kozak nodded. “What I have right here, this is it. There’s nothing else that survived Merrick’s.” _Good to know,_ Nicky thought. _The trail ends here, then._ “With whom we’re going to be doing business with, we’re going to need a continual supply.” 

“And they need this person now?”

“Let’s just say, they prefer to have their evidence _indisputable,”_ she replied sweetly, smiling. “They want to see it in action.” 

_“Now, behave, pet. I’ve invited the others to see the wonders that you can do. Don’t disappoint me.”_

Nicky shuddered at the memory, at the years he’d lost to capture over his curse. He had been nothing more than a mouse to those people. A rodent to be crushed under their boot, to be trained and to be beaten to their own amusement. Kozak was no different than the rest. Her greed of _‘helping the world’_ as she put it, blinded her from the cost of such an endeavor. 

He would make sure that Kozak wouldn’t get her hands on any more samples. No one would. _This ends tomorrow._

“Fine,” he lied. “They tell you where?” 

Kozak nodded, smiling at his apparent blind agreement. “He’s still in England,” she said, handing him a piece of paper with an address. “Here’s what they sent me.” 

Nicky grabbed the paper and nodded. “I’ll bring him here.” 

“Good,” Kozak replied. “With him and what I’ve got now, we’ll finally be able to lock this down. You’ll go to bed a very rich man tomorrow night.” 

Nicky hummed again, not bothering to respond. He was done with her. He grabbed his bag and started walking towards the door. 

“Tomorrow at one. Don’t be late,” Kozak called after him. 

Nicky turned and let himself smile, his grin almost feral. “I wouldn’t dare miss it.”

* * *

Nicky sighed, resisting the urge to smash the phone against the dash of the car. It would be satisfying to feel the cheap plastic shatter in his hands. He snapped the flip phone shut, not bothering to leave a message. 

He sat parked on an empty street in Leeds; Kirkstall to be specific. He’d been there all evening, waiting for a call back that he was starting to think that he wasn't going to receive. Nicky couldn’t afford to wait much longer. He had to be back in Aberdeen tomorrow early afternoon for Kozak’s meeting with Cascade.

Begrudgingly, he’d made the journey to the address of the test subject that Kozak had given him. It was a risk, leaving her on her own, but Nicky knew that she needed the man he was sent to collect. She wouldn’t run without him. That being said, he had no plans of kidnapping anyone, so he wasn’t really sure why he’d bothered coming. He’d hoped that, assuming his phone calls would have gone answered, he would have had more information on what to do, but it looked like he was on his own for this one. 

Nicky looked back out his window, at the deserted street. The back-to-backs stared back at him, the terraced houses looming over the setting sun. _Screw it,_ Nicky thought, finally stepping out of his stolen car. While he certainly wasn’t planning on kidnapping whomever this poor sap was, maybe he could give Nicky more of the answers he’d been searching for. 

He tucked a handgun in the back of his waistband instinctually, before jogging across the street to the address that Kozak had given him. It was one of the houses that didn’t have lights shining through the windows, or windows that were completely intact for that matter. Nicky eyed the grimy glass, cracks splintered throughout. The street he was on reflected a rougher part of the neighborhood, but Nicky still felt hair stand on the back of his neck in unease. 

Unsure of what else to do, Nicky knocked firmly on the front door. Unsurprisingly, there was no response. It looked like whomever was there, if anyone, had already left. Nicky knocked again, listening for any movement. He jiggled the door handle, tilting his head as he found it unlocked. Nicky swung the door open slowly. “Hello?” he asked into the darkness of the flat. 

The remaining daylight illuminated the entryway. It was almost empty, the furniture remaining there old and decrepit. The walls were aged, wallpaper ripped and curled. Empty bottles and papers littered the floor that looked to be rotting. Everything was covered in a thin layer of dust. 

Nicky stepped in hesitantly, the floor creaking in protest under him. It echoed loudly through the silent house. _This isn’t right,_ he thought. He walked further into the house, poking through other rooms that looked similar to that of the front of the house. 

The wind blew and the whole house seemed to creak, groaning under the stress of its own weight. More creaking came from the room to his left and Nicky froze, wondering if that too was the wind. He crept over to the room opening, peeking in, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. 

Nicky held back a laugh. Frightened by the wind; Joe would never let him live that one down. Nicky’s heart panged at the thought of Joe, wishing that the man was here with him. The burner phone burned in his pocket. 

Nicky thumped his head against the wall, unable to stop himself from making another phone call. Why wasn’t he answering? He always got back in contact with Nicky. 

_Not like you made it easy,_ Nicky thought vehemently. On the off chance that Joe did have to change contact information again, it wasn’t like he could have told Nicky. Nicky had cut ties with his own communication, focusing on smuggling Kozak out of the country. It wasn’t ideal, keeping Joe in the dark about this - especially after that strange phone call he’d had with the man while he was at the lab - but it was necessary. Things were too hot for Joe, and for the rest of them, to get involved again. He couldn’t risk any of them. 

And it wasn’t like he hadn’t gone dark for jobs before. Joe would understand, he always had. So, when he’d called Joe at the beginning of his journey down to Leeds, Nicky hadn’t worried that his call had been left unanswered the first time. Or the second. But as the day stretched on, Nicky had started to get more worried. What if something had happened to Joe? Merrick’s had obviously left his whole team shaken, but Nicky knew that they could take care of themselves. It was a calculated risk, taking off without any contact, but he knew that Kozak was a lingering threat to the rest of them that Nicky couldn’t let slip through the cracks. 

That being said, if anything happened to Joe because of his own negligence, Nicky would never forgive himself. 

A friendly automated voice chirped in his ear for the millionth time, letting him know that his party could not be reached. This time, however, he let himself wait for the voicemail tone. 

_Beep_

“Joe, _pick up your phone,”_ Nicky hissed in Italian. “I need to talk to you about your last job. I may or may not have gotten myself a little involved, and—” 

Whatever else he was going to say was cut off by a sharp pain exploding on the back of his head, the bottle he’d been struck with shattering to pieces. He hissed at the glass that embedded in his skin, feeling warm blood trickle down the back of his neck. 

Despite the pain, Nicky crouched low and threw his whole body back, right into that of his assailant’s. The two fell onto the floor together and Nicky twisted around, throwing a wild punch at the other man. It was blocked by a knocking forearm, and Nicky barely caught a glimpse of a gun before it was pointing his way. He slapped at the aimed arm and the shot went wide, Nicky then grabbing the man’s wrist, slamming it to the ground repeatedly until the gun fell from his grip. 

Nicky kicked the gun away from the wrestling bodies, finally landing a solid punch across the man’s jaw. The man groaned, his hold slackening just enough for Nicky to push his body weight on top of the other man and pin him, bringing his own gun out, when he froze. 

Nicky paled at the face that stared up at the barrel of his gun. 

“Booker?”


	7. Chapter 7

_“Take it,” a voice said beside him. “He needs it no longer.”_

_Nicolas didn’t move. He stared blankly at the body still hung from the tree. He had been a soldier, given the uniform he was wearing. Not a very good one, if he ended up here, Nicolas thought. The man’s face was hidden by a hood thrown over his face. Not for him, Nicolas thought. Most likely for his own men that did this to him; too ashamed to look at his face as they killed him._

_He was weak enough to be envious of the man. Getting death out of the way early, while the rest of them would slowly freeze in Russia's cruel tundras. May this be the last time I fight for the French, Nicolas thought, as another blast of icy wind whipped around him._

_He’d been in this situation many times before. But that didn’t make it any easier. He was frozen and starving, like everyone else. No one would judge him for ‘borrowing’ an extra layer; they’d all been doing the same to the bodies they’d found littering the side of their path. As Reinald said, he certainly didn’t need it any more._

_“Take it,” Reinald said. “Or I will.”_

_Nicolas sighed, forcing his body to move. It was slow, as it always was in this cold. His body probably felt no different than the dead man’s. He pulled the jacket off the man, awkwardly, the body swinging with the movements. It was moth bitten and frozen; Nicolas could barely bend the fabric to mold to his arms. Any relief he’d been hoping the extra layer would provide him as he slipped it on didn’t come. He felt dirty, colder even._

_He’d also been in this situation many times before, stealing from the dead. Shockingly, it still wasn’t easy, either._

_He heard Reinald walk away. Knowing him, the man was actually waiting for Nicolas to decline the jacket so he could take it for himself. Nicolas ignored him, and looked back at the body._

_I should cut him down, Nicolas thought. Regardless of what the man did, he shouldn’t be left in this way. Especially since he’d just pilfered the poor man’s wardrobe. The wind roared again, death’s cold grip dancing around his exposed skin. The gale was so strong that the body swung animatedly, as if the man was still alive from where he hung at the noose._

_Nicolas grabbed a knife from his belt and cut the rope, the man’s body flopping to the cold ground. There would be no hope in burying him; the ground was too frozen for that. Nicolas crouched next to him, his joints aching, and straightened his body out to a more comfortable position. He should take the hood off; Nicolas should at least give him that respect as well._

_“Nicolas!” his commanding officer snapped at him. “Make haste! We’re leaving.”_

_For where? he wanted to scream. Napoleon was a fool if he thought he could outlast the Russians. This was their land; all they had to do was sit back and wait for nature to take care of the enemy itself. It probably wouldn’t be long before someone else was taking this jacket off Nicolas’s corpse. Would that man be in for a surprise, he thought._

_He gave the dead man one last look. “May you find peace in His kingdom,” he whispered, walking back to his group._

* * *

* * *

“Check your stance.” 

“You’re not even looking.” 

“Check your stance.” 

He heard Nile sigh for the hundredth time that afternoon. She cursed under her breath and Joe felt the glare she sent his way on the back of his neck. He waited a few more seconds and then quietly chuckled, hearing the sounds of her feet shifting on the floor. 

He turned, finally, giving her a once over. She still looked awkward, and he could see the line of tension across her arms, but it was still an improvement from earlier. Nile was proving herself to be a formidable student, despite the snarky comments and thinly-veiled threats. Joe liked the fact that her - what had she called it, _spunk? -_ was still there, even after years after training with the Marines. Joe knew he wouldn’t fare any better, but he couldn’t care less. He liked her fire. 

“Tell me what was wrong,” Joe said, walking over to her. 

“I was tracking with my feet, not my knees,” she droned, parroting Joe’s earlier words. 

“Don’t give me that face,” Joe smiled. “You were the one the dragged me out here at the ass crack of dawn to do this.” 

They were in the private courtyard of their villa in Belarus. He’d remembered Nile’s face as they pulled up to the property. Apparently she had assumed that hiding out always meant sitting in the squalor of one of Andy’s caves. Andy may like the familiarity of laying in the dirt, but Joe had standards. 

He’d spent the entire night fortifying the building. He’d passed through here in the past decade, so everything looked relatively up to date, but that wasn’t enough. Besides, it wasn’t like he’d be able to sleep anyway. He walked the halls and the perimeter like a ghost, looking for any crack, any potential red flag that could endanger his family. _The ones he had left, that was._ When he’d finally flopped down onto his bed in the early morning, the door had bust open to an excitable Nile, the girl clamoring that Joe just _had_ to teach her everything about fighting with blades. Joe had been helpless to refuse.

They’d been here all morning. Despite Nile’s frustration, she had refused to quit, keeping at badgering Joe for more advice. Now, the sun had already peaked and crested, and Nile still showed no signs of stopping. 

“Well, can’t we work on something else? Like, can I even hold the sword?” she asked, gesturing to the wooden stick she’d been holding for hours. “Why don’t you let me got chop at that tree or something.” 

“If you would like to go hack at the tree, no one is stopping you,” Joe shrugged. “We could probably use the firewood.” 

Nile groaned, shoulders slumping. “Listen, I’ve seen Karate Kid, so I know how this works and all, but I figured we would have moved a little further than just standing. I’ve been squatting like this for hours; my legs are killing me.” 

“You would not have done well in the Middle Ages,” Joe chuckled. “You’d be standing that way for hours before the battle even started.” 

“Wow, sounds like fun, shame I missed out,” Nile deadpanned. “Can you teach me something else, now?” 

“The art of the sword takes time,” Joe huffed. “You cannot rush these things, Nile. You had military training. What, did you just show up one day and they gave you a loaded gun?”

“Actually, yeah.” 

Joe rolled his eyes. “Americans,” he sighed. 

“Maybe I’m just not meant for this,” Nile shrugged. “I’d be more than happy to stick with something a little more automated.” 

“Guns. So primitive.” 

Nile shot Joe a blank look. “I regret showing you Black Panther.”

“But we had such a lovely time,” Joe jested, smirking at her. “It was very enjoyable. You know, it’s been a few centuries since I’ve used a spear. Maybe I should start using it again.”

“Oh, no,” Nile interjected. “I refuse to be on any jobs with you carrying around a sharpened stick as a weapon.”

Joe laughed again, and she swatted at him with her stick. When dodged easily, he caught her looking at the sky, looking at the sun’s placement herself. Joe narrowed his eyes at her. _Cheeky little thing,_ he thought. 

“You didn’t want to learn to sword fight, did you?” Joe asked suspiciously. 

“Not really,” Nile admitted, biting her lip. “I mean, maybe one day. It’s just, I know I’ve got more than enough time on my hands, but it still hasn’t really hit me. Even when it does, there’s still a lot of other stuff that I had on my bucket list before I start playing with swords.” She paused before smiling. “Besides, the labrys is much cooler.” 

“Teacher’s pet,” he replied, shoving at Nile’s shoulder. 

She shoved right back, twice as hard, much to his delight. He had a sudden urge to tackle her, to wrestle with his newfound sibling the same way he and Booker would. Grief washed over him and the feeling was gone in an instant. “Then why did you let me take up your whole day?” 

Nile shrugged nervously. “It was more like me taking up your day,” she said. 

Joe shot Nile a dirty look. “I am nearly a millennium years old,” he gruffed. “I certainly don’t need a babysitter. Copley said to let him handle finding Nicky and that’s what I’m doing.” _I can behave,_ was what he really meant. Even when he wanted to do anything but. 

Nile shot him a knowing smile. “Who said anything about Nicky?” 

Joe didn’t have an answer for that. 

He felt a comforting hand grab his shoulder. Firm, but warm. _So much like Andy,_ he thought. “Hey,” Nile whispered, as if talking to a frightened animal. “I’m not here as a babysitter, I’m here as a friend. I know you’re worried about him.” 

_Worried._ He wanted to laugh. Worried was such a trivial term. Worried was what happened when you can’t remember if you left the kettle on. Worried was when you missed your flight, or when you lost your keys. _Worried_ was not what he was. Nicky had lied to him, taken off with Kozak, and then seemingly fallen off the face of the planet. Worried could not even begin to cover what he felt. 

Copley had promised to track him, but after the first few days, Joe had lost hope. His flat was abandoned and his phone had been disconnected. Nicky had gone underground, and no matter how good Copley was, Joe knew he wouldn’t find Nicky. 

At first it had been promising. If Nicky was hiding, that likely meant that he had finished his job and was laying low for a while. He’d done it many times before, just like the rest of them had, and would peek back out once the coast was clear. 

But the gaping questions that remained unanswered surrounding the extent of what Nicky’s job actually entailed had won out in Joe’s mind. He couldn’t stop thinking about what could happen to him. Kozak was dangerous, and Joe knew that she wouldn’t stop until she had what she wanted. No matter the cost. 

He shouldn’t have left Nicky. He should have just grabbed him and dragged his ass all the way to Salzburg. 

_Salzburg._ Why the hell did he even ask? It was a move of a desperate love-sick boy, nothing more. Ever since Nicky had told him about Salzburg the first time - it was a common conversation topic, talking about places the other hadn’t been to, just to pass time - and had seen his eyes light up, Joe couldn’t get it out of his head. Couldn’t stop himself from thinking of the pair of them together, Nicky walking him through the city and pointing out all the sites he’d told Joe about. 

When Nicky had declined, it had stung, burying as deep as Booker’s betrayal. It wasn’t as if Nicky had never said no to him before - even with all the time he had on his hands, there were just some times that their schedule’s just didn’t line up. But this time, hearing Nicky say no, and then seeing him walk off with Kozak? It was too much. 

“Nicky can take care of himself,” Joe replied. 

“Who are you trying to convince here?” 

_Hell if I know,_ he thought. 

“Well, if we’re going to just talk about him anyway,” he heard Nile sigh, but he didn’t think it was for him to hear. 

“What?”

“Tell me about it,” Nile said, changing the subject. “Malta.” 

Joe hesitated. Part of him didn’t want to tell her. But Nile was right; he was constantly plagued by the thought of Nicky. He had been since they’d left Surrey. Might as well have her share in his thoughts, and focus on happier ones. He felt a soft smile grow; a private one. One that wasn’t for Nile.

“What do you wish to know about it?” 

Nile shrugged. “Anything you want to tell me. You said that’s where you met Nicky, right?”

Joe hummed, eyeing the sky before turning to head over to the covered patio. A storm was coming. 

He heard Nile trail after him like a lost duckling. “Well, then spill the tea, man,” she smiled. “I mean, how unrealistic was it? Like, Disney sing-along love at first sight romantic, or are we talking Brokeback Mountain here?” 

Joe sighed. “You know, with each passing day, I am more and more convinced that you do not actually speak English.” 

Nile punched him in the arm. “Come on, how romantic was it?” she asked. “Did you see him helping an old lady across the street and knew he was the one? That seems like a very Nicky thing to do. Or did you lock eyes across a crowded market and spend the whole day figuring out what to say to the other?” 

“We were on a job, Nile,” Joe replied. “Although, we did sort of lock eyes from across the room.” 

Nile’s eyes brightened and she grinned excitedly. “I knew it,” she said. 

Joe frowned at her. “You’re spending a lot of time thinking about a relationship that will never happen.” 

Nile shushed him, ignoring his argument. “So, you locked eyes from across the room, and?” 

“And, uh, he tried to gut me with a stiletto.” 

Nile blanched, and Joe chucked. _So much for her textbook romance_. “I’m sorry, what?” 

Joe shrugged. “It may not have been the most romantic thing, but I would be remiss if I didn’t appreciate the skill of his attempt.” 

“Okay, we’re definitely coming back to that because there is something seriously wrong with you,” Nile replied, her eyes wide. “But first - he tried to kill you with a shoe?” 

Joe chuckled. _Child,_ he thought. “No, no, it is a blade,” he said, gesturing down to his own weapon that he had strapped on since beginning to teach Nile. “A type of misericorde.” 

“Is this another one of those old school weapons that I should magically know about?” 

“Actually, yes,” Joe chuckled. “Nicky does have such good taste.” He had an appreciation for the weapon; Joe liked to think that he appreciated it more. “They are his specialty, you see,” Joe continued. “Where I have this, and Andy has her axe; Nicky has his knives.” 

“No wonder you like him,” Nile said, rolling her eyes. “Another person who prefers LARPing to operating in the twenty-first century.” 

“Nicky is as deadly with a sniper as he is with his knives,” Joe answered. “But knives are his first choice. It suits his jobs well, as he almost always works alone. He rarely goes in “guns-blazing” like we do.” 

“Must be nice,” Nile chided. 

“But you really should see him use them,” Joe smiled. “He does not fight; he dances. He moves like a flowing stream and strikes like a viper, so quick that you do not even get to see the blade before the hit lands.” 

Joe paused, grin falling from his face. Would Nile ever get to see Nicky in his element? It seemed as if he had disappeared for good. However, his true issue wasn’t really because of Nile. The real question was whether or not Joe would get to see Nicky in his element again. 

Andy had already cornered him since they’d arrived, making sure he was aware that he wasn’t off the hook for taking them to Nicky’s. For staying in contact with him. It was a familiar argument, one that he’d had with her numerous times. 

_“We can’t keep doing this, Joe,”_ she had said. _“It isn’t fair to Nicky. It isn’t fair to anybody.”_

 _It isn’t fair to me,_ he had wanted to scream. But he hadn’t, as he knew Andy was right. Nicky had wormed his way into all of their hearts, not just his. They’d all been happy to ignore the elephant in the room for the time being. There had been others, many others, over the courses of their lifetimes. Nicky would just be another face that would blend into the background of their history.

He’d done it before. Many times. But the thought of Nicky becoming just another name that he would eventually forget made Joe want to be sick. 

He was ashamed to admit that he felt the gnawing pang of jealousy eat at him, at Andy’s newfound mortality. He thought, just for a moment, what it would be like if it had been him. How accepting he’d find it, knowing that he could live out his remaining decades with Nicky. He could have laughed in that moment, knowing that even Booker would have scoffed at his hypocrisy. 

“Joe?” 

Nile’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. He looked over at the younger woman, Nile wearing an expression that was too old for her face. A face that he’d seen reflected in Nicky’s; one of compassion and empathy. “Tell me about his knives,” she said kindly. 

“The, uh, stiletto,” Joe started, “is straight and skinny. The blade is so fine,” he said, holding up his pinky finger for reference. “It may not look like much, but I’ve seen him take out an entire building with that needle.” Joe walked up to Nile and pinched at her side. “It feels like nothing more than a bug bite; that is, until you realize,” he continued, miming a knife stabbing upwards, making Nile jump, “that the blade has slipped under your sternum and pierced your heart.” 

“Yikes,” was all Nile said in response. 

Joe chuckled. “My thoughts exactly,” he replied. “Nicky likes it because it is quick and clean. He doesn’t like messes. Guns make messes. Guns are—”

“Primitive?” Nile answered with a smile. 

“Exactly,” he said, laughing. “They don’t usually fit with his agenda. And, considering how good he is without them, they are unnecessary.” 

“So, that’s how you were able to tell it was Nicky on Copley’s video?” Nile asked. “Because of his stiletto?” 

“No, he was wearing his jambiya. I had it made for him,” Joe admitted, feeling his cheeks heat. “The blade is curved, and it's used for more _intimate_ kills, so to say. It’s more of a last resort, on the off chance that Nicky, well, does have to make a mess.” 

Nicky’s eyes had shone when Joe had presented him with the knife. He’d held it in his hands with such care, like he was cradling a glass figurine. The first time Joe saw him wear the knife, his heart nearly burst from his chest. The first time he saw Nicky _use_ the knife, well. One of the hired guns they’d been tasked to eliminate had gotten the jump on Joe; he had expected a bloody death, and a bloody death was what he got. Except it wasn’t his. Joe had barely fallen to the ground before the man that had tackled him had been ripped away, Nicky jamming the jambiya into the meat of his stomach, tearing viciously through muscles and organs. 

The man had died loudly and wetly. Joe had been shocked still at the veracity of Nicky’s kill; he’d never seen him in such a state. The Italian had stood over him, knife white-knuckled in his hand, blood splattered across his face, eyes as stormy as a hurricane’s. He’d looked at Joe with such a blazing gaze and the building lights had haloed around him like he was an angel sent from heaven itself, raining down righteous fury. Joe had many unholy thoughts about Nicky that night. 

“Why did he try and kill you?” 

“I had been working on my own, for a time,” Joe said. “I had been referred by someone on a past job to handle a _small issue_ in Malta.” _Yeah, some small issue,_ he thought. “Politics is very big in Malta, but recently they had been recovering from some scandals. It was an election year, so they couldn’t afford something else getting out of hand. I was called in to take care of it, so to say.” 

“What exactly did you take care of?” 

“I was hired, under the table of course, by one of the two political parties. They had received information that the opposing party had acquired confidential information about some of their staff from an unknown source. Enough that would tear their entire cabinet apart. They asked me to take care of it.”

“Let me guess,” Nile said, rolling her eyes. “Nicky was the unknown source.” 

Joe nodded, smiling. “But Nicky had been hired because of a different reason entirely. He had been told that the opposing party - the one that I was working for - was sending someone to steal information from _their_ staff,” he said. “You can see where the issue arose.” 

_Entering the property had been easy. Scaling the building to the back garden had been less so; Joe wasn’t as young as he used to be. He hopped over the fence and looked around, eyeing the empty yard in distrust. Where was everyone?_

_He hadn’t been expecting the Secret Service or MI6, but he had thought there would be more guards than this. He had thought there would have been any guards, really._

_His eyes narrowed but he continued his walk across the grounds, He’d almost made it to the double doors that led to the office when there was a high whistle, and then a knife embedded itself into the wall next to him. It was perfectly eye level to him, nestled right between the bricks, sticking out of the grout._

_Joe spun, reaching for his gun. A singular man stood across from him, head to toe in black, holding another knife. A hood covered his eyes, but Joe could make out the rest of his grim face. He could see his lips twitch at Joe’s surprise. Where the hell had he come from?_

_“Maltese?” the man asked. His voice was soft. Shockingly soft, for a man with such a hardened face. Joe didn’t reply._

_The man tilted his head slightly. “Italiano?” he asked. “Español? English?” The man’s frown deepened after each question. “Deutsch?_ _Français?” Then, to Joe’s surprise, he lowered his weapon and gestured quickly with his hands. Sign language, thought. What a cultured mercenary. He looked at Joe expectantly, hands raised in question, waiting for whatever a response in whatever language Joe spoke._

_The man hummed at Joe’s continued lack of response. “A simpleton, then,” he said to himself, in Italian._

_Hot anger washed over Joe’s face. “I can speak whatever you want,” he hissed in Italian. “But I know better than to waste my words on you,” he finished in German._

_Much to Joe’s distaste, the man smiled at his backing insult. “Not simple,” he replied in Greek. “A scholar.”_

_“What does it matter?” Joe asked in English._

_The man shrugged. “I find it rude not to at least engage with one another before we, well, engage with one another, don’t you agree?” French, that time._

_“I’d rather just get on with it, if it’s all the same to you.”_

_The man said something else, but Joe wasn’t sure what. It was spoken in Polish, Romanian, maybe. The sounds were familiar, but the meaning was lost. He may be immortal, but he wasn’t perfect. More so, his brain wasn’t anything more than the, well, average Joe’s. He’d had to relearn languages he’d forgotten many times._

_“Men that are fast with their words are usually slow with their hands,” he answered in Arabic. The man paused at that, and Joe realized in surprised giddiness that he also didn’t know every language._

_The man shrugged, admitting defeat. But before Joe could even blink he had his other hand raised, flinging his over knife right at Joe. It sliced right across his knuckles that gripped his gun and Joe hissed, but before he could fire in response, the other man was on him, tackling him to the ground._

“Well, what happened?” Nile asked. “Who was wrong?” 

“We both were,” Joe chuckled. 

“What?” 

“There was never any incriminating evidence. Turns out the Prime Minister and the Opposition Leader were in cahoots with each other. They’d hoped that whatever happened between Nicky and I would become public and the country would choose sides on who they thought was right, no doubt leading to civil unrest and riots.”

“Why would they do that?” 

Joe shrugged. “Politicians are greedy shades. I think they wanted the chaos, if only to be given more power in a time of crisis. It’s happened on many occasions.”

Nile hummed.

“Took us a while to figure it out,” he continued. “We were too busy having a battle royale on the terrace. We almost killed each other. Good thing Nicky and I decided to keep talking to each other as we did so. We discovered we’d both been duped.” 

“Don’t let him fool you, Nile,” a new voice answered. “Nicky definitely killed Joe, he’s just too proud to admit it.” 

The pair turned to look at Andy, who was leaning casually against the door jam. “Lies,” Joe replied. “Just a simple flesh wound, is all.” 

She looked better today, the color returning to her face, but Joe could still see how she was listing, how she favored her other side. 

“Enough chit-chat,” Andy said. “Show we what you’ve learned.” 

Nile grabbed her stick and waved it wildly. “Don’t be too shocked at my skills already,” the younger girl said. “Believe it or not, sword fighting is all about the stance.” 

“You don’t say,” Andy drawled, a lazy smile on her face. 

“Oh yeah,” Nile answered, stepping back towards the center of the courtyard. She stopped suddenly, running back over to Joe and giving him a hug. It was over quickly, as if she wasn’t sure how Joe would feel about it. Even after she pulled away, he could feel her lingering warmth. “He’s going to be alright,” she whispered, just for him. 

Joe smiled. _I hope you’re right, sister._

* * *

* * *

“I don’t understand,” the man whispered, pacing around the room. “What are you - you shouldn’t—,” he broke off and looked at Booker, as if expecting the man to have the answers himself. Booker stared right back at Nicky. In all the ways he’d imagined this day to go - which, really, was just deciding which spirit he was going to drown himself in - this definitely didn’t cross his mind. “What are you doing here?” 

“I think that’s a question we both have,” Booker answered slowly. He watched as Nicky made another lap around the room. He rubbed at the back of his head and Booker winced. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know it was you. I can take a look,” he added, pointing to Nicky’s head. 

“No need,” Nicky answered. “They’re not that deep. I should count myself lucky that you were too drunk to throw much a decent swing.” He shot a reassuring smile Booker’s way. 

“I’m not that drunk,” Booker replied. “Although, what do I know, because I’m apparently drunk enough to hallucinate you being here.” 

“That happen often?” Nicky asked, head tilted and mouth cocked into a lazy smirk, like it always was when he was being an ass. “I know you miss me when I am not around, but I did not know how much.” 

“Nope, you’re definitely here,” Booker said, leaning his head against the wall. Even on his best day, his imagination couldn’t compete with Nicky’s snarking tongue. “But me first - why are you here?” 

“You brained me with bottom shelf wine,” Nicky argued. “If anything, I get to go first.” 

“Fine,” Booker snapped. “I live here. You next.”

“Nice place,” Nicky answered, narrowing his eyes. 

“Why are you here?” he pressed. 

“I’m on a job,” Nicky answered simply. 

“In Leeds?” Booked scoffed. “You’re going to have to try a bit harder than that, Nicky.” 

“You certainly didn’t try.” 

_“Nicky.”_

“I was sent here to fetch someone,” the man said. “At this address. But why you’re here, is just—”

The man paused before staring back at Booker, his gaze blazing. It was the same way he’d looked at Booker when he was in his flat, just weeks before. It was intense, like staring into the sun, and Nicky tried to peel him apart, layer by layer, until he found the answers he was looking for. 

“What did you do?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Your last job,” Nicky pressed. “What did you do? What did you do that was so bad, eh?” 

“Nicky, I—”

“I thought Joe was to kill you in my apartment. So, _what did you do?”_

Booker sighed. “I can’t tell you.” 

“Bullshit,” Nicky hissed. “You just don’t want to. I told Andy no questions, but that’s because Andy saved me from falling into a smoke stack in Cologne,” he continued. “I owe you no such favor. _So tell me.”_

“I _can’t,”_ Booker whined. What would it even help? Jesus, he was not in the right mind to deal with this. How was it possible that he even was dealing with this? 

Nicky cursed at him in Italian. “This doesn’t make sense. You shouldn’t be here,” he snapped, pointing at Booker. “Unless, Kozak was right. Unless—”

Booker paled. _“Kozak?”_ he gasped. “Nicky, what the hell are you—”

“Tell me right now, did you sign up to be their lab rat?” 

Booker froze. _What?_ How the hell did Nicky know that. _God,_ did he know about him? About all of them, and what they were? “How do you know what?” he asked. 

_“Oh, Booker,”_ Nicky sighed, the same way that Andy had when she’d found out. “Why would you do that?” 

“What else am I gonna fuckin’ do?” he yelled. Why was he even arguing with Nicky on this? How could that man possibly understand what he was going through? How could be possibly understand the weight on his shoulders? 

“There are other ways to help!” Nicky shouted back. “I saw what happened at Merrick’s, Book. What they were doing - what Kozak is going to do - is unethical! I don’t care what sort of mutation you have, whatever she promised you, it’s not worth it.” 

Booker opened his mouth to reply but stopped. _What?_ “What are you - mutation?” 

“Kozak told me everything, Booker. About whatever her deranged mind thinks your genes can do. But I saw Merrick’s lab. I saw the samples. How could you let her do that to you?” 

Booker flinched. _How could you let her do that to Joe?_ was what really should be said. Because it wasn’t his samples. They were all Joe’s. Joe, who was strapped down in that lab and pulled apart. Joe, who was there, just because Booker put him there. 

But Nicky had said mutation. He wasn’t one to beat around the bush. If Nicky knew about Booker’s immortality, he would have said something. What Kozak had told him was true, but it wasn’t the whole truth. 

“Why are you working with her?” Booker asked. “Why were you in the lab?” 

“I couldn’t—,” Nicky sighed. “You all looked like ghosts when you came to me that night. I’ve never seen you that way. I’ve never seen Joe—” he broke off again. “I saw what happened at Merrick’s on the news; I knew you had to have been there. No one was going to tell me anything, so I figured I would find out myself.” 

“You could never let anything lie, could you, Nicky?” 

Nicky ignored him. “I went the next morning, and I saw Kozak stealing samples. I thought at first maybe you’d been hired to stop Merrick from selling on the black market. But the way Kozak risked everything for the samples, I knew it was about them. I just didn’t know what,” he shrugged. “I worked by way in and have been following her since, trying to get some answers.” 

“You shouldn’t have gotten yourself involved.” 

“And what would have happened if I didn’t?” Nicky snapped. 

Booker sighed, wishing this all really was a hallucination. Nicky started pacing again. “What are you going to do?” Booker asked. _What am I going to do?_

“I’m going to finish your fucking job.”

* * *

* * *

“This is a bad idea. In fact,” Booker said, leaning back in his seat, “this may be the worst idea you’ve had to date.” 

“Then why did you come with?” Nicky hissed back. He hadn’t even turned to look at Booker, eyes still locked straight ahead, his hands tightening his grip on the steering wheel. They were sat in a car park, one they’d been in since mid-morning. He’d never been to Aberdeen before; not that it mattered. In his short to some - but long to most - lifetime, Booker had found the spark of excitement of traveling somewhere new didn’t last. Everywhere looks the same to him, now. 

Booker bit his lip, but didn’t reply. _What else am I to do?_ he wanted to say. Nicky shifted next to him. The man was restless, which was not a good sign. Nicky never got restless. Nicky also never got moody, either, but it seemed that Booker was lucky in that regard as well. 

Nicky had never been much of a talker, a quality that Booker liked about the man. He had a way of conveying more in his silences that he ever could with his words. It was if you could measure the man’s mood just by the feel of the air around him, and by the weight of his silence. 

There was a silence that covered like a safety net, while they worked a job together. There was one that came with sly smiles and rolling eyes when they all watched the match together. One that was most prominent, _warm,_ echoing the companionship shared between them all. There was one that was for Booker, and for Booker alone; grief-stricken and patiently understanding, as they shared a bottle of whatever Booker had in his pocket under a starry sky. 

So, it wasn’t a surprise that Nicky spent most of their drive to Scotland in silence. After filling Booker in with who Kozak was planning on meeting, the mouth had shut for good. Booker, too, was silent. Everything had gone to hell, now that Nicky was involved. What on Earth was he supposed to do? Last time he’d made a decision, it had ended rather horribly. Best to sit back and do nothing for once. He’d hoped that Nicky would have gotten in contact with the others by the time they’d reach their destination. No such luck. Sitting in silence it was. 

Nicky’s silence this time, however, was new. It was thick and heavy, cloying, even. Booker had tugged at his collar multiple times, as if the air were suffocating him. As if he was drowning alongside Nicky, in the turmoil of the other man’s thoughts. 

“We should wait,” Booker replied instead. “Until you hear back from the others. They’ll agree with me.” _First time for anything, I guess._

“We can’t wait any longer,” Nicky disagreed. “Kozak and her new clients are here now, so this needs to be dealt with now.” The Italian paused, before glancing over at Booker. “Maybe if you called—”

“They _certainly_ are not going to pick up the phone if I call,” Booker snapped. Not for a long time. _And who’s fault is that?_

Nicky huffed, tossing his phone angrily at the center console as his call went once again ignored by Joe. There was a slight pang of worry that settled low in Booker’s gut. While it made sense for the others to have dispersed and gone deep underground after what happened, Joe had always managed to find a way to get in contact with Nicky before. 

_Was something wrong?_ Not like he would know. He wouldn't know for another ninety-nine years, eleven months and some change. 

Nicky nodded, mostly to himself. “Let’s go,” he said, getting out of the car. 

“Nicky,” Booker hissed, but followed him nonetheless. “We shouldn’t—”

“No, we _should,_ ” came the snapped response, Nicky whirling around to face him angrily. “Unless, of course, you want to admit everything and give me the real reason why I shouldn’t go in there.” 

Booker paused. Too long for Nicky.

“I thought so,” he said, turning back and walking towards the door. He tucked his gun in the hem of his pants. 

“Let me go,” Booker said. _Please._ “Let me take care of it.” 

“Booker,” Nicky sighed. “No offence, but after what I saw a few days ago with the rest of them, I’m not sure if I should leave you alone.” 

_You fool,_ Booker thought. _You damn, noble, fool._ “Fine,” he grit out. “Together. But me first.” 

Nicky rolled his eyes, but obliged him, letting Booker cut in front of him. It wouldn’t last long, Booker knew. Nicky would be back in front of him by the time they got to where they were going. Nicky was the only one who knew where they were going.

Nicky grabbed his arm suddenly. “You’re going to help me deal with this,” he said. “Not because this will help mend things with the rest of them, but because this is the right thing to do.” 

Booked nodded, but Nicky shook his head. “No, I need you to tell me this is the right thing to do. I don’t have the full picture; I’m shooting blindly, here. I need you to tell me that this is the right call.” 

“Stopping Merrick and Kozak was what the others wanted. What _we_ wanted,” Booked amended. “This is the right call.” 

Nicky slumped slightly, and Booker wished to comfort him. Weeks spent running around in the dark, wondering what the hell he was doing had taken its toll. “Good,” he sighed, before looking back at Booker. “Then let’s do this. And when it’s done,” he added. “You _will_ tell me everything else.” 

There was no room for argument. But there were reasons why they’d never told Nicky. _Fuck it,_ Booker thought. It wasn’t like he could piss the others off much more. 

Booker nodded, and then the pair was off. 

They stalked into the building, walking down the empty hallways. The labs were all empty, as it was a weekend. _Well, all the labs except for one,_ Booker thought as Nicky led him to the last one on the left. 

The top part of the door was a glass window, and Booker could see in. Kozak sat at a lab table, talking with a few men in suits. But they weren't alone. Along the back wall was a line of heavily armed men. Booker sighed. _Of course. Like it would be that easy._

“That’s a lot of guns,” Booker whispered to Nicky. “You didn’t mention all the guns.” 

“I didn’t know they would be here,” Nicky answered, eyes wide as he looked at the heavily armed brigade. But why would Nicky assume they’d bring firearms? In his mind, this meeting was just for a new partnership. 

“We should reconsider,” Booker said, praying for once that Nicky would agree with him. 

“Sì,” the man said. “We should—”

But then Kozak was looking out the window, catching both of them in the window. “Shit,” Booker hissed. He should grab Nicky and run. He should - 

But Nicky, the dumbass, was opening the door and walking in, intent on working with the hand they’d been dealt. 

“You’re here,” Kozak grinned. Booker wanted to shoot it off. “I told you he’d find him.” That was said to the man to her left, no doubt confirming that Nicky would be able to finish the job. _Jokes on you,_ he thought. He eyed the wall of men on the back wall. Maybe the joke was still on them. 

His mind raced with scenarios, on ways that he could get Nicky out of here. The lab tables were large enough for him to hide behind. Maybe he could push the man down and they could pick everyone off. Booker would die, no doubt. But Nicky had asked for the truth - nothing worked better than a demonstration. 

Kozak looked at him, grin widening. Like she was looking at her next meal. “It’s good to see you again. Thank you for coming; we’re going to do such great things together.”

He could feel Nicky shift next to him. _Don’t say anything stupid,_ he wanted to say. “Yeah, about that,” Booked said. “I’d like to renegotiate my terms of service.” 

“Oh?”

“In other words, I’m not doing shit for you.” It felt good, saying those words. Saying what he hadn’t been strong enough to say before. But wasn’t that just the icing on the cake. Because he didn’t want to say them. If it was just him here, by himself, Booker would still say yes. Even after everything, he still hadn’t learned his fucking lesson. The chance of ending it all was just too tantalizing. 

But he wouldn’t, not with Nicky here. For the time being, he was Booker’s number one goal. He’d help Nicky clean everything up and then he’d figure something else out. Maybe there was enough chemicals around that Booker could mix together that would take care of it. 

“You’ve already agreed.” 

“That was before what happened at Merrick’s.” 

“I’m sorry to say that your gifts are too important to let go.” That was said by the man Kozak had been talking to, the hired guns shifting behind him as he spoke. So they were his, then. The man's dark blue suit clashed against his clammy skin, giving him an even more unsettling pallor. 

Nicky laughed beside him. “Voluntary, huh?” he asked to Kozak. 

“You knew that when we started,” she said. “Don’t play dumb.” 

There was a moment of silence between them all before Nicky was moving behind him, jamming his gun against Booker’s temple. “I’ll do it,” he hissed, in a tone that Booker had never heard him use before. “You told me how valuable he is. You’re going to let him walk out of here or I don’t let him walk out of here at all.” 

_Oh, Nicky,_ Booker wanted to sigh. _That won’t work on this crowd._

Kozak laughed. “Go on,” she encouraged.

Safety’s clicked off around the room, and Booker jolted forward, putting himself further in front of Nicky. “Alright, alright, everyone calm down,” he said. “There’s no need for that,” he continued, staring back at Nicky until the man lowered his gun. Booker could see the look of confusion on the man’s face. He turned to look back over at Kozak. “I’ll come with you.” 

He could feel the heat of Nicky’s stare on him, but he ignored it. This was the only way that didn’t have Nicky in a body bag. The only hope Booker had now was he would meet up with Joe and the others and convince them to pick up Booker’s mess. Again. They wouldn’t do it for him, but they’d do it for Nicky. 

“Good,” Kozak smiled. “But before I forget. Thank you, Joe,” Kozak said. “We really couldn’t have done this without you.” 

Booker wanted to laugh. Of course, of fucking course did they even prefer Joe over him. “Fuck you,” Booker snapped. “I’m not Joe, I’m—”

He was cut off when one of the armed men raised his gun. Shots fired and Booker winced and prepared to welcome the pain like the old friend that it was, but it never came. A loud thud sounded from his left. He turned and looked in horror at the body that was now on the ground, lying still. 

_Nicky._

Booker scrambled to the fallen man’s side, any semblance of faking being strangers gone. “No, no, no,” Booker moaned, pressing futilely on the weeping wounds on his friend’s chest. Blood seeped through his fingers, painting a very familiar picture, but not with this blood. _Nicky’s blood._ He pressed down harder, instinctually, but there was no point. He knew the feel of a dead body more than most. 

Booker dared to look up at Nicky’s face, and immediately wished he hadn’t. Crystal eyes stared back at him, but they were _wrong._ They were glazed, like frost covering the surface of a lake. Empty and cold in a way he’d prayed he’d never see. 

“Get him in the truck,” Blue Suit was saying. “And get rid of this one.” 

Arms grabbed at him and Booker fought madly, desperately trying to stay with his fallen friend. He looked up just in time to catch the back of a gun come slamming down on his temple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author notes I'm forcing you to read:  
> I am 1000% with Nicky being obsessed with knives.  
> \- I see him as having a soft spot for weapons that he's used from he very beginning. Since he can't exactly lug his long sword around (especially on jobs with Joe), knives are a nice substitute.  
> \- I am a firm believer that Nicky has a knife for every occasion.  
> \- Lets talk about the one he favors, the stiletto. This knife is a cousin to the misericorde, like Joe said. The misericorde was a knife carried by knights as a secondary weapon. The name translates from the French word "mercy" as this knife was used to deliver death blows to injured knights on the battlefield. Like it's job is literally to be a mercy killing. Being Nicky, who still seems to take life when only necessary, he would 100 PERCENT use this knife. If he's going to kill someone, he's going to do it mercifully, quickly, painlessly, and as Joe said, with the least amount of mess.  
> \- That being said, the jambiya! Joe's present to Nicky, which seems to stand for the exact opposite of the stiletto. We see Nicky use this once, in protection of Joe. Unlike his usual stance, Nicky wants this one to hurt, because that man was a threat to Joe.  
> \- AKA, what I'm getting at here, is that the knife Nicky uses = Nicky's current mood/mental state 
> 
> Also, very happy to have reached this chapter. No more beating around the bush - these men have some explaining to do! 
> 
> Thank you again for all the continued support of this work. Enjoy!
> 
> -JAT


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Potential Trigger Warnings! Please read!!!**  
>  Violence, Blood/Gore, Death (a lot), suicide, discussions of suicide, depression, plane crashes 
> 
> These themes are most of the chapter, so if you don't want to read, please let me know and I'll give you the spark notes.

It was the slight swaying of the vehicle’s movement that woke him. It took a harsh turn, and Booker’s head thumped painfully against the car’s side. You could only teach an old dog so many new tricks, and Andy responded to modern technology in one of two ways: immediate acceptance or spiteful refusal, rejecting to learn the new invention and instead content enough to wait long enough for the product to be discontinued and replaced with something else that she could try. 

She’d begrudgingly learned to drive once it was clear that cars weren’t going anywhere any time soon. However, she drove cars like she had ridden horses centuries before. Hard, fast, and positively unforgivingly. 

The vehicle jolted sharply again. Booker let out a stream of less than friendly comments under his breath, silently begging that Joe would take the wheel. 

He opened his eyes, and it all came rushing back to him. He wasn’t with Andy or Joe. He was in Scotland, with Nicky, and Kozak had gotten the jump on them. He was in the back of a van, being transported God knows where. Across from where he was sitting was a singular guard, gun pointed at his chest. 

His head was barely throbbing any more, and Booker could have laughed when he realized they hadn’t even bothered to kill him. Like it was too much of a hassle. They hadn’t even restrained him. But they had killed someone. 

_Nicky._

The man was slumped on the van’s floor, swaying with the vehicle's movement. He was turned away from Booker, so he couldn’t see his face - thankfully, as he didn’t think he could bear it - but he could see the blood staining the back of his shirt. He could see the stillness of his chest. 

_Why didn’t you wait? Why didn’t you run?_

How long had they dreaded this day? There had been too many close calls on shared jobs for the elephant in the room to be ignored, yet they all had elected to do so. Nicky was going to die eventually; Booker guessed they’d all assumed he’d be stubborn enough to live to a ripe old age. Booker knew that Joe had a few sketches of Nicky with silver streaks in his hair. 

_God, Joe._

What the hell was he going to tell Joe? 

If Joe could ever forgive him for what had happened with Merrick, he’d never forgive him for this. Of course, Booker knew the real problem was that Joe would never forgive himself for what had happened. He’d bury himself in guilt for not answering the phone when Nicky called. 

This shouldn’t have happened. 

He had never argued with Joe about Nicky. Not like Andy did. Andy, well, it turns out Andy took to most things like riding a horse. She could seem cruel with the way she looks at the world. Everything was so black and white to her. Of course, having lived as long as she had, there were few things that she hadn’t seen already before. While it seemed like cruelty to others on the surface, Booker knew it was just their stark misunderstanding and naivety of how the world actually worked. Andy’s tough love was tough, but the only way she could get the message of hard learned lessons across. 

But Joe was anything but stubborn. Besides, it certainly wasn’t his fault. _These things just have a way of happening._ His wife’s voice echoed through his brain. At least, he thought it was. It was getting harder and harder to remember what she sounded like. Now, he wasn’t sure if the voice in his head was his beloved’s, or just the lady from the yogurt commercial. 

_These things just have a way of happening,_ he thought viciously. 

Joe and Nicky were a disaster from day one. The first time he and Andy had seen the pair interact, they knew. Joe knew. Hell, even Nicky probably knew that it couldn’t last. Everyone knew, but let Joe continue anyway, and that frustrated Andy to no end. She couldn’t understand. 

But Booker could. It was due to that fact that Joe had talked about Nicky so much with Booker. It was always little things - comments about a book that Nicky had gotten him to read, complaints about the man’s lack of sense of direction. Odes to his poor fashion choices and unruly haircuts. 

Booker just sat back and listened, smiling. 

He remembered Joe asking him once, if he could go back and change things. If he would still go back to his family once he’d become immortal. He had thought of his wife’s cold hands in his as she’d died. Had thought of the way his sons had cursed him, damning him as they’d withered away. 

But then he’d thought of the way his wife had cried when he’d come home from Russia. How she’d clung to him and had whispered praises to God that he was back with her. How she’d kissed him and smiled at him the next morning. He’d thought of reading to his children before they’d gone to bed. How he’d taught them how to ride, how to shave, how to love. 

Booker had never been able to answer Joe, but that it seemed, was answer enough. There was so much unbridled pain that came with thinking of his family, but he thought of them anyway. The pain was addicting; he was like a child drawn to a flame, reaching a hand out to touch the dancing fire, knowing that it had hurt every time before, and that it would hurt every time after. 

For Joe, it is the same with Nicky. 

_Was._

Booker cast another glance at his fallen friend that lay at his feet. He bit his tongue and swallowed the grief back down. That could wait. 

He eyed the singular guard sitting in the back of the van with him. Any other time he’d be insulted, but after what had happened recently, it seemed that Kozak’s new benefactor had done his homework. 

He’d overheard Joe tell Andy on the drive from Merrick’s about what had happened to him. Or, more accurately, what happened to the group of men who thought they could keep him under control when they were transporting him to Merrick’s plane. 

It seemed that whomever was running the show at Cascade didn’t want to clean up a repeat performance. He glanced out the back window, and saw another van trailing right behind. No doubt filled with the rest of the men that he’d seen in the lab. Far enough for them to be safe, but close enough to catch any semblance of an escape plan. 

Booker looked back at the solitary thug sitting across from him. Booker wondered if he’d pulled the short straw, or if he was dumb enough to volunteer. He thought about killing him. One last act of defiance before he was shipped off to be pulled apart like a lab rat.

 _Isn’t this what you wanted?_ a thought hissed at him. 

He didn’t have to answer that one, looking down at where Nicky’s body lay between them. No, he’d definitely kill this guard, but not for him. For Nicky. Booker wasn’t sure he had actually been the one to shoot Nicky, but that mattered little to him. 

He leaned back and cracked his knuckles. The guard was heavily armed, but Booker paid it no mind. His hands would work just fine. It gave Booker a chance to take his time. 

Booker gave the man a once over, trying to decide which limb to shatter first. The guard shifted in his seat and the air in the van grew thick with tension, as if he knew what was coming. Gloved hands tightened their grip on the gun, but Booker could see them trembling slightly. _Good._

Both men waited, expecting the other to make the first move. What neither man expected was a third contender. 

Nicky’s body shot up between them in a flash, the other two startling back with shock. The gun was quickly knocked out of the guard’s hand before he was dangling in the air, an iron grip locked around his neck. Booker heard the sickening snap of his neck breaking, and the man slumped to the floor, replacing the body that was previously there. One that should have _stayed_ there. 

Booker sat frozen as he gaped at Nicky’s body - no, _Nicky,_ it was Nicky, living and breathing - glare down at the man he’d just killed while rolling his shoulders, sighing in relief as the bones cracked. Booker must have made some type of noise but Nicky’s attention snapped to him in an instant, hands already reaching for Booker’s neck. 

Booker barely felt the fingers tighten around his throat before they were jerking back as if they’d been burned, Nicky realizing who he was. 

“Booker?” he asked. 

Booker still couldn’t find it in him to answer, still staring back at the other man with wide eyes. Nicky looked about as shocked as he did. 

“Booker, I—,” his friend started, before looking out the back window. “I thought you were in the other van.” 

Booker shook his head, dumbly. 

Nicky rubbed at the back of his neck, nervously, and bit his lip. “Are you alright?” he asked suddenly, stepping closer. “Did they hurt—”

“You were dead.” 

Nicky paused, visibly flustered. “Uh, no, I was wearing a—,” he trailed off, looking down at his blood soaked chest. “It looks worse than it is.” That sounded like more of a question than a statement. 

“You were dead,” Booker repeated, mouth still agape. 

“Well, I, uh. I don’t really know what to say,” Nicky answered, putting his hands on his hips. 

He was dead. Nicky was _dead._

And now he wasn’t. 

Booker started to laugh.

“No way,” he grinned, jumping up to scoop Nicky into a hug. “No fuckin’ way!” 

“Well, I certainly wasn’t expecting this,” he heard Nicky mumble into his shoulder. 

“I can’t believe it,” Booker cried, squeezing Nicky harder. But was it really so hard to believe? 

_He’s a warrior,_ Andy’s voice whispered in his ear. Of course Nicky would be chosen for this. Of course he was one of them. He’d always been, hadn’t he? Booker felt tears well in his eyes yet again, but in a way of pure, unadulterated joy; one that he hadn’t felt since before he’d first died. _Finally, a fucking break._

“Booker?” 

“Oh, man,” Booker sighed, finally pulling away. “Right, how to explain this. I really shouldn’t have to be the one to do this, so I apologize that I’m your only option.” 

Nicky looked at him with a confused gaze. “What are you talking about?” 

“You were dead,” Booker repeated. “And now you’re not.” 

Nicky sighed in exasperation. “I know, I know. Listen, Booker, I have to tell you—”

“You’re going to be okay—”

“What? Yes, I’ll be fine, that’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Nicky interjected. “It’s a lot to take in, and—”

“Of course it is, but you don’t have to deal with this alone—”

“I don’t know why this has happened, but—”

“No one knows, Nicky, you’ll drive yourself crazy thinking about it. But don’t worry—”

“I hope you can still accept what I am, and know that—”

“What? Of course we will. You don’t have to worry anymore, because—”

“Everything is going to be fine,” both of them finished at the same time. 

“Well, uh,” Booker added. “You’re taking this a lot better than I thought you would. Am I good at this?” He cast another look at Nicky. “No, that can’t be it.” 

“What the hell are you talking about?” 

“You!” Booker shouted. “You are deceptively calm for a man who just found out that he was immortal.” 

“Is that what you were on about?” Nicky asked. “Because I didn’t. Just find out. This is not new for me.” 

_What?_ “I’m sorry, run that by me one more time?” 

“I’m immortal,” Nicky said slowly. 

“Yeah, I know that, asshole,” Booker scowled. 

“Then I do not know what you want me to say!” 

“Well, something would be nice! How the hell are you so calm about this? You should be mid-mortality crisis, right now!” But Nicky had said something. _This is not new for me._ Booker sucked in a sharp breath. “Wait a second, this isn’t the first time that you’ve died?” 

Nicky shook his head. “I’m immortal, Booker. I literally can’t die.” 

“No, but you’ve died before? Before this death?” 

“Yes.” 

“What?” Booker gaped. “How? _When?”_ They’d been friends with him for years, certainly Nicky couldn’t have become an immortal right under their noses. _Unless._ “Was it that job in Stockholm?” Booker asked. “It was, wasn’t it? I knew you were hurt, I fucking knew it. You weren’t fooling anyone.” 

“Does it matter? Booker, you’re missing the point here.” 

“Am I?” 

“Yes, I’m telling you that I’m immortal!” 

“We’re just going in circles, now, Nicky. Yes, I’m aware!” 

“And you don’t care?” 

“Why would I?” 

“Why _wouldn’t_ you?” 

_Oh. Oops._

He was really bad at this. He forgot the one part of the news that he would have to share. 

“I’m about to blow your fucking mind,” Booker smiled, pointing to himself. “Me too.” 

Nicky furrowed his brow. “Me too, what?” 

“Me too, as in me too. As in I can’t die.” 

Nicky shot him a dirty glare. “Booker, this isn’t a joke. I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you, and—”

“I’m not joking, either!” he argued. “I swear, I’m immortal, like you!” 

“See, this is why you don’t tell people, Nicolò,” Nicky sighed to himself. “This is real, Booker, this is my life!”

“Oh, you know what,” Booker snapped, grabbing the fallen gun from the floor of the van. “We really don’t have time for this,” he said, jamming the gun against his head. He barely heard Nicky shout in protest before he had pulled the trigger. 

He woke to Nicky crowded over his, his crystal eyes wild as they watched Booker’s skull knit back together. _"Dio,”_ he whispered, scrambling away from Booker to the other corner of the van. 

“I tried to tell you,” Booker groaned, sitting up. 

“You… you were dead.” 

“Are we going to have this whole conversation again?” Booker asked. “I’m immortal. Like you.” 

Nicky slumped against the van’s bench. “Like me?” he croaked. “You’re like me.” He dug his fingers into his temple. “No, no that’s not possible.” 

“You really want me to run through this again?” Booker replied, gesturing with the gun. 

“No!” Nicky shouted, grabbing the gun from Booker’s hand. “It’s just, I can’t… I must be dreaming.” 

“And, there it is,” Booker said, leaning over to squeeze Nicky’s shoulder. “Everyone has a moment eventually. You made it longer than most, though,” Booker tried to laugh. “God, Stockholm was almost two years ago. I knew you were lying when you said you were fine. I should have pushed you more. I can’t believe you’ve been dealing with this alone the whole time. You should have been with us.” 

“Us?” 

“Yeah, Nicky. The others. Andy, Joe. Nile, too. They’re all like us.” 

“Immortal?” Nicky stuttered. “All of you?” 

“Yeah, the whole gang.” 

“Joe?” Nicky asked, voice thick. Booker could see a tear slip down the man’s cheek. 

_God, Joe,_ Booker thought for the second time that day. 

What the hell was he going to tell Joe? 

Booker grinned. “Yeah, Nicky. Joe, too.”

His smile was not mirrored, unfortunately, and Nicky instead let out a low sob into his hands. “Wait, no,” Booker said, scrambling to Nicky’s sides. “Joe’s immortal! This is good news; he’s going to be over the fucking moon about you.” 

“He really is?” came Nicky’s heartbreakingly small reply. 

“Yes, I wouldn’t lie. Not about this,” Booker answered. “He can’t die. Even you can’t kill him! I mean, he walked off Malta, so—”

“I killed him in Malta?” Nicky gasped before hiding his head back in his hands, moaning loudly. 

“Right, not the time for jokes,” Booker said, patting Nicky’s shoulder comfortingly. “I told you, I really shouldn’t be the one to do this for you.” 

“You’re lying,” came Nicky’s muffled whine. 

“I’m really not, Nicky.”

“This can’t be happening,” Nicky continued. He gasped in short pants, chest heaving. “This isn’t real, this isn’t real!” 

“It is, Nicolò, look at me, it is!” Booker replied, grabbing at Nicky’s wrists. “I’m here with you, I’m real. What’s happening right now is real. I’m here, with you, and we’re—,” he broke off, remembering exactly where they are. “We’re in a real bad way, my friend. We need to get out of here.” 

“What?” 

“Nicky, the whole reason we’re in this mess is _because_ I’m immortal. That genetic mutation Kozak was telling you about? She was talking about our immortality. Merrick found out what we were and wanted to test us to try and recreate our abilities.” 

_“Dio,”_ Nicky moaned again. 

“We need to get out of here; we need to get _you_ out of here,” Booker clarified. “They already know I’m immortal, but they certainly don't know about you.” 

But Nicky wasn’t listening. The man was hunched back over, whispering to himself in Italian. “Nicky!” Booker hissed, shaking him harshly. “You can freak out later, now _really_ isn’t the time.” When Nicky still didn’t respond, Booker cursed, and then slapped the other man hard across the face. “Snap out of it! We need to get out of here.” 

Nicky was shaking like mad and his breathing was erratic, but he nodded anyway, looking towards the door. “No can do,” Booker said. “There’s another van following us. They’ll see us jump out.” There wasn’t any way to get access to the front of the van either. 

Nicky looked back at the dead guard on the other end of the van. “Take off his clothes,” he said suddenly, starting to strip his own bloodied shirt off as well. 

“What?” 

“Take off his clothes! They’re expecting a dead man in here, and that’s what they’ll get.” 

Catching on, Booker nodded, and feverishly began stripping the corpse, taking Nicky’s rumpled clothes in exchange, to dress him back up. 

Booker had barely begun slipping Nicky’s shoes on before he felt the van start to slow down. He cursed and pushed the guard face down, praying that no one would recognize him. He scrambled onto the van’s bench, Nicky - now adorned in full armored wear - flopped in the seat across from him, finger already on the gun's trigger. 

The van pulled to a halt and Booker could hear the other pull up right behind them, doors already opening. Their own door was thrust open, guns cocking all around them. Another armed guard poked his head into the van.

The man let out a rough laugh, looking over at Nicky. “Well, who would have thought, your dumbass managed to survive,” he said. “That’s a hundred quid out of my pocket.” 

Nicky just shrugged before grabbing at Booker’s elbow tightly, yanking him out of the van. “Get him on the plane,” the guard said. “I have Rogers taking care of the body,” he added, before heading across the tarmac to the plane. 

“We can make a run for it,” said Booker quietly. 

“We won’t make it. There’s too many,” Nicky whispered back, eyeing the rest of the guards that had surrounded them. “Get on the plane.”

* * *

* * *

“Let me guess, you haven’t found him.” 

Copley stared blankly at him from the computer screen. Nile had set up the video call upon receiving a message from Copley that he needed to speak with them. _“A pleasure, as always,”_ Copley just smiled. 

“If Nicky doesn’t want to be found, he won’t,” Joe snapped. He’d already told the man that weeks ago when Copley agreed to track down Nicky. 

_“Well that’s just it, I think he does want to be found,”_ Copley retorted. _“Have you checked your phone recently?”_

Joe paled, hands patting his pockets frantically, searching for the device. “I think I saw it in the kitchen. I’ll get it,” Nile said, before jogging off. 

“Why do you ask?” Andy pressed. 

_“Joe has been getting calls from our missing friend.”_

Nicky had been calling. _Fuck,_ Nicky had been calling. He glanced up to catch Nile run back in, phone clutched in her hand. “Here,” she said, handing it over. Joe woke the screen up, taking in the smattering of missed call messages that filled the view. The number was not one he recognized, but it had to have been Nicky. The real question was how Copley knew. Joe asked him as such. 

_“Because I tapped your phones.”_

“You tapped our phones?” 

_“I did.”_

“You’re on thin ice here, Copley,” Andy growled. 

Copley frowned at her. _“You all have every right not to trust me, but you have to understand that I don’t trust you either,”_ he said. _“There’s a severe gap in years of experience between us, and I also don’t want to be the one that’s the odd man out.”_

“Pulling this shit isn’t going to get us to trust you,” Joe snapped. 

_“You asked me to keep you hidden, and that’s what I’m doing. This man is working with the same woman that got us all into this mess in the first place. You need to understand why we have to consider that Nicky is batting for the other team. I understand he’s your friend, but_ —”

“You don’t know him, Copley. He wouldn’t do that to us,” Joe argued. 

_“Yes, but in my defense, Joe, you probably thought the same about Booker.”_

Joe clenched his jaw, thinking about how satisfying it would be to smash the computer to pieces. _You have no right,_ he wanted to scream. While he could manage to understand the necessity for Copley’s involvement, it didn’t mean that he was going to like it. The man was a red herring, a visible threat to the rest of them, involving himself in matters that are above him. He shouldn’t have the right to be involved. 

_“I did not say that as a sleight,”_ Copley continued kindly. _“I’m just trying to help. That is my job, isn’t it?”_

Joe ignored him, noticing that he had a notification for a message as well. He opened his voicemail and pressed the phone to his ear. 

_“Joe, pick up your phone!”_ a hushed voice hissed at him. _“I need to talk to you about your last job. I may or may not have gotten myself a little involved and_ — _”_

Nicky’s voice was cut off by a shattering sound. Joe’s blood froze in his veins as the rest of the message played out in silence, only broken by a few dull thuds and groans. On instinct, he ended the call, and dialed Nicky right back. 

_“Don’t bother,”_ Copley said. _“You won’t get an answer.”_

Joe ignored him, as well as the chirp of Nicky’s own voicemail, and kept redialing. _Why had he not answered his phone?_ Why was it not glued to his side? He’d spent the evening roaming the halls of their villa like a heartbroken Victorian maid, and then sparring the day away with Nile. 

She’d wanted to take her mind off him, and she had, but of course the universe decided that that wasn’t his call. He caught Nile looking at him guiltily, and Joe placed a comforting hand on her back. It wasn’t her fault - she could have done anything with Joe today and it wouldn’t have mattered, because he _hadn’t picked up his fucking phone._

 _“The voicemail came in last evening, but you’ll see that he made calls to you the next morning,”_ Copley continued. _“But he didn’t leave any more messages. So either he was calling again to talk about Merrick’s, or_ — _”_

“Or, somebody else was making the call,” Joe answered, swallowing thickly. 

_“I doubt it was someone else. Why would they bother?”_

“Well, that’s good,” Nile said cheerfully, nudging Joe’s arm with her own. “That was earlier today. He’s probably fine, and just stepped away from his phone.” _See, people do that,_ was what she was trying to tell him. _You don’t get to blame yourself either,_ was what she meant. Joe smiled at her. He loved her so much already. 

“Where was he calling from?” Andy asked. 

_“The voicemail came from Leeds,”_ Copley answered. _“But the last call this morning came from Aberdeen.”_

“He’s on the move,” Andy muttered. “What the hell is in Aberdeen? Or Leeds for that matter?” 

“Does Merrick have any branches there?” Joe asked. It was clear Nicky was still on the trail of what happened at Merrick’s. _What the hell is he looking for?_

“He’s looking for answers,” Andy responded tightly. Joe must have said that though aloud. “He promised me no questions, but he didn’t make any promises of not going out to find the answers for himself, the dumbass.” 

Joe heard Copley type on his keyboard. _“Merrick doesn’t have any labs there, but he was at a lab,”_ he said. _“The last call came from the medical campus at University of Aberdeen.”_

“What would be doing there?” Nile asked. 

_“Helping someone who still needs access to a lab.”_ Copley’s face was grim on the computer screen. _“The last time we saw him, he was with Kozak and the samples. Why else would he head to a remote location with full medical labs?”_

Joe looked down at the phone in his hands, Nicky’s frantic voicemail still playing out in his head. “Would he still be trailing Kozak?” he heard Andy ask him. “It’s been a few weeks.” 

Joe nodded. “He’s played longer games before. Besides, if he found out how dangerous she was, he wouldn’t leave her side until he figured out what to do with her.” Joe eyes his phone again. Is that why Nicky had called? 

_“Do you think that Nicky knows about you?”_

“I don’t think so,” Nile answered for Joe. “I don’t know him that well, but something tells me that voicemail would have been a bit different if he did know.” She was probably right. Joe had always envied how Nicky was able to keep his head in even some of the tensest situations, but it was always a sight to behold when he finally got flustered. No, if Nicky had found out his secret, there would be a lot more swearing involved, and lengthy complaints, but also affirmations - because of course there would be, it was Nicky - that were so long winded, that it required him to leave multiple messages. 

“None of this matters,” Andy snapped. “He called for help, so we need to go.” 

Joe nodded numbly, his mind already buzzing about how quickly he could steal a car to head to the train station. Booker was usually the one who— 

_“I’ve already got a plane headed your way,”_ Copley said. _“It’s landing within the hour. I’m in the process of pulling security footage from Aberdeen, but I figured you would want to start in Leeds. That’s where he left the message; something must have happened there.”_

 _Oh._ Joe paused, looking back at Copley. Maybe there was a reason that they needed him. 

“Good,” Andy said, nodding. “We’ll be ready.” 

Joe looked back down at his phone, dialing Nicky one last time, but to no avail. 

_Where are you, Nicolò?_

* * *

* * *

“How do you want to do this?” Booker whispered in French, looking around the cramped cabin. No one paid them any mind. The few men that had gotten on the plane with them were bustling around the plane, assisting in Kozak’s barked orders of securing the samples in pressurized compartments. No one had so much as glanced Booker’s direction, content enough of having Nicky sit guard to their latest prize. “We’ll need to overpower them before we land.” 

He glanced over at Nicky’s direction, the man unrecognizable in the armored gear. The man had been quiet for the flight, listening to Booker whisper what had really happened to them at Merrick’s. What Booker had done to the rest of them. Booker _had_ promised to tell him everything. And, if part of the reason he was telling Nicky now was because he knew that Nicky couldn’t yell and scream back at him, who was to say. He certainly wasn’t going to stop being a coward in one day. 

“Nicky?” 

“Patience. We’re almost there,” Nicky whispered, nodding over to the TV screen, where the flight trajectory was being mapped out on a satellite view of Europe and a cartoon airplane. “I’d rather not do this over the ocean.” 

“Do what, exactly?” 

“Have you ever crashed a plane before?” 

Booker blanched. “Um, what?” 

But Nicky just grinned. “Oh, you’ll love it,” he snarked. It was more startling than the conversation they were having, as the smile looked foreign, like it didn’t belong on Nicky’s face. But, given the way the day had gone, Booker came to realize that the grin was only foreign to him. He didn’t know the real Nicky. 

“Have _you_ ever crashed a plane before?” 

Nicky shrugged. “Faster than landing.” He looked back over at the flight trajectory, leaning in for a closer look. “Actually,” he added. “This will do just nicely.” 

Booker looked at the screen as well, trying to follow Nicky’s train of thought. “What, now?” 

Nicky nodded, leaning down to pull a knife from where it was strapped to his ankle. He placed it gingerly in the space between him and Booker. “Can you handle them?” Them, being the rest of the armed men in the plane, five of them. 

Booker nodded. In close quarters like this, it would be no trouble at all. “Where are you going?” 

Nicky stood up. “To go kill the pilot.” He took a step before pausing, turning around. “Kozak,” he said, giving Booker a grim face. “Make sure she lives.” 

Booker nodded in agreement and watched Nicky head to the front of the plane. A few of the men tried to talk to him, but Nicky ignored them, pushing forward to the cockpit. _Well, no time like the present,_ Booker thought. 

He grabbed the knife Nicky left for him on his seat and scrambled to stand, jamming in quickly into the jugular of the guard closest to him. The others didn’t have time to react before Booker was on to the next one, bringing him down in similar fashion. 

He heard Kozak scream, but she didn’t leave from where she was cowering in her seat. The other three guards charged him, but it was over quickly. They were caught unaware and their fighting was stilted, afraid that a single shot would bring the plane down. Booker had no such qualms, as apparently that was the plan anyway. 

Two of them went down easily, tripping over themselves in the tight space, and while the last one managed to get a few good hits in, the plane dipped suddenly - Nicky no doubt taking care of the pilot - and Booker used the distraction to go in for the kill. 

He huffed as the last man fell to his feet, already feeling his few wounds begin to close. Kozak had tried to scramble away, but Booker shoved her back down into her seat. “I don’t think so,” he said. “You don’t get the luxury.” 

The cockpit door opened and Nicky stepped out, giving the cabin a once over before nodding at Booker. He could already feel the plane start to tip. Kozak must have as well, if her gasp was any indication. “What are you doing?” she shouted.

“Cleaning up a loose end,” Nicky retorted viciously. 

Kozak’s eyes widened, no doubt recognizing Nicky. “No, that’s not possible! You were dead!” she cried. “You’re another one?!” 

Nicky hummed, but didn’t bother to respond. He looked back over at Booker. “You better put your seatbelt on,” Nicky said. He stood at the front of the plane, next to Kozak’s seat, peering back into the cockpit calmly, one hand braced against an overhead compartment, like he’d done this a million times before. 

Booker scrambled to comply, the plane already tilting at a threatening angle. “Does it help?” 

“No, but it will make you feel better.” 

Booker swore, hands shaking as he strapped himself into the seat. Belongings that had littered the seats and that had been stored above started to crash to the floor, rolling towards the front of the plane as it tipped downwards. Booker felt the bodies of the men he’d killed brush against his feet as they followed suit. 

Kozak was screaming like mad, pleading with Nicky as she grasped her own seat like a lifeline. Her cries were ignored, and Booker risked a glance out the window, stomach curdling as the ground started to fill his whole few. 

“Please, you don’t have to do this, you don’t—” Kozak screamed, but was put off by Nicky reaching for her. 

“Look at me. Look at me when you die,” he hissed, grabbing at Kozak’s chin, hand clamping over her mouth to muffle her screams. Booker could see the tips of his fingers redden at the tight grip he held her in. “You hurt my friends,” he continued, his voice steely with caged fury. “That was a mistake. One you will not repeat.” 

It was the last thing Booker heard before the plane smashed into the ground and everything went dark.

* * *

* * *

Booker groaned, his body instinctively curling into a ball on his side. No matter how many times he’d found himself in a position like this, it was if every time was the first time. He’d gotten more than used to the feeling of his bones slotting back into place and his skin knitting together, but he was always unsettled by the sounds. The snaps of bone popping into position; skin stretching wetly over quivering muscles and veins. Booker shuddered.

His eyes fluttered open to a sky on fire. Smoke billowed into the clouds and ash flew through the air like snow. He could hear the crackle of flames and the heat of them on his skin. 

He sat up slowly, taking in the carnage around him. He was laying in a grassy field, surrounded by piles of burning debris. _Jesus, Nicky._

Speaking of, his newly-immortal friend was already up and about, looking across the wreckage. He caught Booker’s gaze, and started to make his way over to him. He was limping slightly, but it was gone by the time he stopped in front of Booker. 

“Are you alright?” Nicky asked. He was still in full armor, gun saddled at his hip, having miraculously survived the fall. He’d only removed his helmet. By the blood that was splattered on Nicky's face, it seemed that the helmet hadn’t survived the descent in one piece. Booker winced in sympathy; that must have hurt.

Booker got to his feet, shakily. “I’m fine,” he answered. 

“Good,” Nicky answered, nodding his head. He stalked over to Booker, something grasped tightly in his right hand. Booker barely had time to figure out what it was before it was heading towards his face. 

_A rock,_ he thought as it collided against his face, shattering his nasal cavity into his brain. 

  
  


Blood was still pooling in his mouth when he came to. Booker leaned over and spit it out, breathing deeply through his reformed nose. He opened his eyes and saw the bloody rock lay innocently next to him. Nicky was crouched over him, his eyes cold and empty. 

“Alright, I had that one coming,” Booker admitted, flashing Nicky a red smile. 

“No shit,” the man growled in response before he threw himself back at Booker. This time, Booker didn’t see the weapon, but he sure as hell felt the stinging heat of a knife being jammed between his ribs. 

  
  


When he woke for a third time, he saw Nicky head back over towards the wreckage. 

“Where are you going?” 

“To find Kozak.” 

“What, Nicky she’s dead, she’s—”

“Well, I don’t _know_ that, do I?” he shouted, turning back to look at Booker. “Death seems to be more picky than I had originally thought. I need to know.” 

“Nicky, I—”

“Oh, shut up,” Nicky snapped, pulling out the side arm that was still strapped to his leg and plugging Booker right through the center of the forehead. 

  
  


This time he opened his eyes to the mangled corpse of Meta Kozak. She was barely recognizable, her body twisted and broken unnaturally, burnt and bloodied. Still, Booker could make out a few fresh bullet wounds into what had remained of her skull. 

When he sat up, he saw the bodies of the rest of the guards and the pilots. What was left of them, anyway. Nicky stood over them all, eyes piercing as he looked from one body to the next, searching for any sort of movement. There was no point; Booker knew that none of them would be coming back. It had been too long. 

“They’re dead, Nicky,” he said slowly. 

Nicky didn’t move. Booker got up with a grunt, walking over to the other man. He could see tremors raking through Nicky’s body as he got closer. He reached out to offer a comforting hand, but stopped himself. Booker didn’t think Nicky would take too kindly to anything he had to offer right now. 

Nicky turned, looking at Booker with a blank look. Booker pretended to ignore the movement of the other’s hands, not stopping them from grasping around his neck and squeezing. 

  
  


After the fifth time, Booker gasped awake to Nicky crouching in front of him, fingers clenched around a blob of melted glass. Booker recognized it as one of the test samples, now destroyed from the crash. Nicky was gripping it so hard that Booker could see that his skin was blistered and bleeding from the molten vial. 

“Joe?” he asked, simply. He didn’t need to answer. Nicky already knew. 

He barely caught a glimpse of Nicky’s hand moving before the ruined glass was burrowing into his throat. 

  
  


He lost count after that. 

  
  


Booker jolted into consciousness - yet again - noting the shift in the sun’s position over him. He hadn’t thought that much time had passed. That being said, there were times that Booker couldn’t even open his eyes from his previous deaths before Nicky was on him again. 

Booker groaned at the slight ringing that still sounded in his head, and he touched his temple, feeling the familiar wetness of blood and the absence of a wound. To his left, a gun lay sitting in the grass. _Shot to the head, then._ Booker had noticed that while Nicky mixed up the ways to kill Booker, he never dragged it out. Just a quick flash of pain - if any - before it was lights out. Even now, even lost in his rage, he still granted Booker reprieves he didn’t deserve. 

He looked around, wondering what Nicky would come at him with this time, but the man was nowhere to be found. For a split second, Booker thought that Nicky had up and left him until he heard it. A low keening, like an animal wounded. Soul-wracking sobs that carried over the crash site. 

He’d heard that sound before. He’d felt the same heartbroken tones leave his own chest as he stood over his wife’s grave, his sons. Even now he could keep it welling up inside him, grief clawing its way up his throat to consume him. 

A stray tear slipped down his cheek and Booker reached for the gun. What could he say to a man who now stared down the endless void of eternity? What could he do? 

Booker pressed the gun to his temple. 

Give him some goddamn peace and let him grieve in private. 

  
  


His movements were stiff; blood was caked so deeply into his skin and clothes. The gun’s chamber had long been emptied, but Booker hadn’t even paused in his ministrations, just grabbing a sharp piece of debris and dragging it across his throat over and over again. 

He couldn’t hear Nicky anymore, but Booker didn’t stop. He couldn’t. 

But he was stopped. A hand grabbed at his wrist, while another one gently tugged the sharp metal out of his grip. Booker let go, watching as Nicky chucked the makeshift dagger into the field before sitting in front of Booker gingerly. 

The usually pale man was red. Tear rimmed eyes that had been rubbed at, cheeks flushed from yelling, lips bitten and chewed. The rest of his skin was littered with blood, much more than he had when Booker last saw him. 

Booker stayed silent. There wasn’t anything he could say. 

“How old are you?” Nicky’s voice was hoarse and quiet. 

“Forty-two,” Booker tried to smile. 

“Don’t fuck with me right now, Booker,” Nicky snapped tiredly. “I’m sure I can think of a few ways that you haven’t been killed yet. Have you ever been tarred and feathered?” 

“Can’t say I’ve ever had the pleasure,” Booker replied, but didn’t push any further. He didn’t know where Nicky would get the feathers, but knowing how determined the man could be, he’d probably shoot a bird out of the sky just to spite Booker. “A little over two hundred,” he admitted. “I died in 1812.” 

Nicky frowned, his head tilting slightly, and Booker wanted to laugh, thinking of when he’d first told Nile. Her face had been priceless, but he thinks Nicky’s is better, as it looked like the man was scrolling through his brain, trying to remember what was happening back in 1812.

“Napoleon?” Nicky asked. 

Booker nodded, smiling. Guess all that reading was good for something. “I fought with him. Well,” Booker corrected - there was no point to tell Nicky another lie, “fought being the operative term. I was killed by my own men for desertion.” 

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting Nicky to say. He didn’t like talking about his first death, because even then, he was nothing but a coward. Maybe Nicky would laugh, maybe even scoff at him. But he didn’t; Nicky just nodded in the revert way he always did. “That was a tough time,” he said. “Napoleon was strong, but he was greedy. He reached too far.” 

“No, shit,” Booker said in agreement. “He was kidding himself if he thought he could take Russia. We all knew we would die out there.” 

Nicky perked up at that. “Is that where you died? In Russia?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I don’t think I blame you for deserting,” Nicky said. “It is as you said; we all knew we would die out there.” 

Booker frowned, shooting Nicky a confused look. “What?” 

“I remember eating the horses,” Nicky continued, his eyes distant as he lost himself in his memory. _His memory._ Nicky had been there? “Eating our own rides home. It was then, I think, that we knew.” 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Booker interrupted. “You were there?” 

“Yes, I fought in Russia for Napoleon. Fought being the operative term,” he mimicked back to Booker. “More like I froze my ass off in Russia for Napoleon.” 

“You were there,” Booker said again. 

Nicky nodded. “My first death was not in Stockholm, either. Although you were correct, I did die there. Had a collapsed lung.” 

_Fucking knew it._

“How old are you?”

“Older than you, apparently.” 

“That’s not possible,” Booker continued, shaking his head. “I don’t remember you in Russia.” 

Nicky laughed harshly at that. “No worries, Booker. I don’t remember you either. But then again, do you remember every person that you’ve met in the last two-hundred years?”

“No, I guess not.” 

“I barely remember that time as well. I just remember the horses. And I remember it was cold.” 

Booker did manage to laugh at that. “It was _so_ fucking cold,” he chortled. “You know I’ve only been back to Russia once? I didn’t even want to go,” Booker said, smiling at the memory. “It was for a job, and Andy threatened to tie me to the front of the plane to really feel how cold it could get if I didn’t come quietly.” 

Nicky snorted. “That sounds like her,” he said, and the pair descended into silence once more. 

“If we were both in Russia,” Booker started, rubbing at his chin. “Maybe we did meet, and maybe that’s why I never dreamed about you.” 

“What dreams?” Nicky interjected. “Dreams of me?” 

Booker nodded. “When we die our first death,” he said, “we dream. Of the others. Joe, Andy—” he paused, unable to say Quynh’s name. Everything was already so raw between them; Nicky certainly didn’t need to know the story of Quynh’s tragedy now. “We keep dreaming of each other until we meet. Like we’re meant to find each other.” 

Nicky’s face shattered. “I don’t understand,” he whispered. “I never dreamed of you. Of any of you.” 

“I don’t know what to tell you, I really don’t,” Booker answered apologetically. “It’s not like this has ever happened before. And there’s so few of us as is, so, I don’t know man, I’m sorry. I really am.” 

He could see Nicky’s jaw clench, frustration obviously mounting inside him. “What are they like?” he asked. “The dreams?”

“Uh, it’s hard to explain,” Booker started. “It’s like watching a movie, I guess. Seeing the life of the other’s in your own eyes. Where they are, what they’re doing. Clues on how to find them.” Booker rubbed a hand across his forehead. “Like, Nile, for example. She’s new; she died for the first time just last month. When we dreamed of her, we saw her getting killed. She had been looking for someone in a village, but he’d killed her,” Booker continued, still feeling the slice of the blade across his own neck. “We saw her name tag, a chopper - the medevac - and saw him cut her throat.” 

Nicky looked ashen. “I know, I know, not a great dream, but—”

“The knife, was it a pesh-kabz?” 

“Um, I’m not really sure. Maybe? You’re the knife expert, here.” 

“What about the room she was in?” Nicky pressed. “Did it have a dirt floor? Clay walls?” 

“Yeah, but why are you—”

“Because I saw that, too! I did dream of that!” 

“What? You did?” 

“Yes!” Nicky nodded excitedly. “A few days before you came to my place. It was all so real, and I couldn’t—,” he broke off, grabbing his throat as if reliving the memory in his head again. The man jumped to his feet and started to pace.

“Yeah, it’s tough to go back to sleep after those dreams,” Booker replied. If that wasn’t the story of his fucking life. “Drinking usually helps,” he added, and his tongue curled at the mere thought of a drop of liquor. 

“That was Nile? I dreamed of Nile?”

Booker nodded. “Yeah, that was her first death. She was serving in Afghanistan. You didn’t recognize her when she came to your flat?” 

“No,” Nicky answered. “I didn’t really see her face in the dream. I saw part of her dog tag and I—,” he paused again. “I found it at my place the next day, and I didn’t understand how. I thought it was just a coincidence, and that I had been having a nightmare from when I was in the Middle East last.” 

“You haven’t had that dream since, right?” 

Nicky nodded. 

“That’s because you met Nile,” Booker explained. “That’s how it’s supposed to happen.” 

“It was so real,” Nicky whispered. “It was like I was there with her. That I was the one dying.” 

“Yeah, they’re not usually a walk in the park,” Booker sighed. 

“But I’ve never had a dream like that before,” Nicky said. “Not of anyone else. I would’ve remembered something like that.” 

“Well, if you were in Russia, there’s a chance that we did cross paths. That would explain why I never dreamed about you, and vice versa.” Why he didn’t dream of the others, or they of him on the other hand, was a mystery. Booker froze in realization. _Andy._ Andy never dreamed of him. 

“How old are you?” Booker asked in amazement. 

“Older than you,” he said again. 

“Andy never dreamed about you,” Booker gaped. “Holy shit, are you older than Andy? If you were around with Andy thousands of years ago—”

“Thousands?” Nicky asked with wide eyes. “Plural?” 

“Well, we don’t have an exact number on her, but it’s at least six thousand—”

“Six thousand,” Nicky breathed, his knees buckling out from under him as he crumpled to the ground. 

Booker looked down at him. “I’ll take that as you aren’t older than her.” 

Nicky snorted. “Not even close. I haven’t cracked _one_ thousand yet.” 

_But you’re close,_ Booker thought. He could read between the lines. Had Nicky really spent all that time alone? And no one had dreamed of him? He would have had to have crossed paths with each of them - even _Quynh -_ if Nicky had never had nightmares about drowning. That put him at over five hundred years old, at least. How had this happened? 

“Maybe I’m just broken,” Nicky said with a grim twist of his lips. Booker hadn’t realized he’d said that aloud. 

“It does beg the question if there are more of us out there that we don’t know about.” 

“I hope not,” Nicky answered softly. Booker had to agree with him. While Nicky hadn’t told Booker his exact age, it was clear that he’d been around much longer than Booker. That whole time, _alone._ Booker had never taken to his immortality well - a point Andy and Joe made apparent multiple times - but there was no way he could have coped alone. How the hell had Nicky done it? 

The pair descended into silence. Nicky stood up again and ran his hands through his hair. Booker bit his lip but stayed silent, not sure what their next move was. 

“Why did you do it?” Nicky finally asked. “How could you?” 

There was no need to ask what he was talking about. “Nicky,” Booker sighed. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t want this. It’s unnatural, what we are. I shouldn’t be here. _We_ shouldn't be here. I should be _dead,_ I should be—”

 _With my wife,_ he didn’t finish. 

“You don’t think we’ve all thought that?” Nicky asked. “You don’t think we’ve all craved for death? I would bet everything that each one of us have put more bullets in ourselves than people we’ve killed.” 

Booker opened his mouth to reply, but Nicky cut him off. 

“But it doesn’t matter. We have not died yet because it is not our time yet, if it ever will be. You’ve lived countless lifetimes and died countless times and what, you thought that science would solve what it had already disproved?” 

“I just thought that—”

“You are a child. An _infant,”_ Nicky hissed. “Are you really so naïve as to believe the whispers of snakes in the garden?” 

“Nicky, I—”

“What did you think would happen, eh?” he shouted. “That they would be satisfied with just you? That they would leave with one sheep while the rest of the flock was there for the taking?” Nicky scoffed at him. “And even if they were, you really think they would let you give you what you want? That after a few years, maybe a few decades that they would thank you for your service and find some way to put you out of your misery?” 

“I guess I don’t really know what I was thinking,” Booker admitted. 

“Because you weren’t.” 

“It was a chance,” Booker argued. “A minuscule one, but more of a chance than I had in decades. I couldn’t pass it up.” 

“I can understand your desperation,” Nicky said. “Foolish and pointless as it is, but you are young still. It takes time to get a true understanding of what your life is now.” He leaned over and picked up the empty gun that still lay at Booker’s feet and strapped it back on his hip. “But what I can’t understand how you could take that chance with _them.”_

Booker looked away in shame. “You had them, this _whole time_ ,” Nicky continued. “You say that you wanted a chance at finding peace. What peace could you have found, if you couldn’t see that which was already in front of you?” 

Booker didn’t have an answer for that one. 

He was right; Nicky was always fucking right. He’d heard it from Joe and Andy, even Nile, but hearing it from Nicky was seemingly worse. The man had learned the truth not more than an hour ago, but he already had his head on straighter than Booker could ever hope too. 

_He’ll be perfect for them,_ Booker thought. _He’ll be everything I couldn’t be._

Booker slumped further into the ground, wishing Nicky would just kill him again. He didn’t, the bastard. Instead, he yanked Booker to his feet. “Get up,” he snapped. “You aren’t going to quit here.” 

Booker nodded slowly, unable to meet Nicky’s gaze. Instead, he turned towards the vast green fields in front of him. “We should leave,” he said. He could see light reflecting on the horizon line. Someone was finally coming. 

Nicky huffed, a sign that their conversation was far from over, but nodded in agreement. “There are a few houses back that way,” he said, pointing west. “We need some clean clothes.” 

“We should head east and swim to the mainland,” Booker argued. “I think people would be more upset to see that we survived the crash than seeing our bloody clothes.” 

“No, we’re not leaving.” 

“What?” Booker scoffed. “Are you crazy? We can’t stay here.” 

“We have to,” Nicky replied. “We have to find that man.” 

“What man?” 

“The man Kozak was meeting with. The one from the Cascade Corporation.” 

“What?” Booker asked, looking back at the bodies of the other plane passengers. “But he—,” Booker paused. Where was he? 

“Exactly,” Nicky said. “He wasn’t on the plane.” 

“He wasn’t on the plane,” Booker agreed. 

Nicky nodded. “I’m not sure why. Maybe he knew this was a risk that could happen, or he had other business to attend to. It doesn’t matter. What does matter, is that he knows about you and the others. If he’s anything like Merrick, he won’t stop until he finds you,” Nicky said. “He needs to be taken care of.” 

“So, why do we have to stay here?” 

“This was his plane,” Nicky explained. “Eventually, law enforcement is going to come and identify it. Which means someone is eventually going to call him, and he’s going to send someone here to take care of it because he can’t have the police sniffing around for a reason why his private charter plane crashed out of the blue, carrying a bunch of hired guns and a doctor who was already wanted for arrest on a previous crime.” 

“And he’ll be our ticket to finding the guy in charge?”

Nicky nodded again. “He’ll know. We can’t let Cascade get away, Booker. The others don’t know.” 

Booker paled. “Right then,” he said, following in step behind Nicky. “Off to steal some clothes.” 

“We need to blend in.” 

The pair began the trek westward. Booker could already see the outline of a few standalone houses. “Keep an eye on that car,” Nicky said. “There aren’t too many places to hide out here, and we can’t be spotted.” 

The man was right. The little blemish of land they’d crashed on was nothing more than one large field without a tree in sight. 

“Where are we?” 

“Gröde, I think,” Nicky answered. “That’s where I was aiming, anyway.” 

“Good aim, as always,” Booker replied. “There was no one out here.” 

“There are less than a dozen people that live on this entire isle,” Nicky answered. 

“If there’s less than a dozen people here, how the hell are we going to blend in?” 

Nicky sighed, quickening his pace. “One problem at a time, Booker.” 

Booker huffed, struggling to keep up. “I can leave, if you want,” Booker offered. 

“It doesn’t matter what I want.” 

“You’re angry, I understand.” 

Nicky scoffed. “Anger is a vast ocean; massive but vague. I am many things right now, Booker. Don’t water me down to something as meaningless as just being angry.” 

_Right, so more along the lines of positively livid, grief-stricken and shell-shocked, probably manically depressed, with a sprinkling of homicidal rage on top,_ Booker thought. _Been there before._

“Right,” Booker said slowly. “Sorry.” 

Nicky sighed again, looking up at the sky. “Let’s just go, Booker. We have a job to finish.” 

Booker nodded but Nicky hadn’t waited for a response, taking back off into the field, Booker trailing behind him with his head hung low, like a scolded child. Silence descended between the pair as they distanced themselves from the crash site. 

“I, uh,” Booker started, “I’m not sure if this helps any, but Joe’s going to be so happy.” 

Nicky faltered in his steps, coming to a halt in front of him. He looked back at Booker. “Really?” 

“You’ve never been stupid, Nicky,” Booker replied. “You have to know how he feels about you. I know you feel the same for him.” 

Nicky blushed faintly, looking down at his hands. “I couldn’t do anything. It wouldn’t have worked.” 

“Because you thought he was mortal?” Booker laughed. “Why do you think he’d been dancing around you this whole time?” 

Nicky just shrugged. “I could never tell if the feeling was mutual. It was easier, I think, to just know that we could never be together.” 

“Well, not anymore,” Booker answered. “Neither of you are going anywhere any time soon.” 

Booker relished in the small smile that graced Nicky’s face. “We’ll see,” he said cryptically. 

Booker wanted to throttle the stubborn man. “Are you really so ignorant to ignore the whispers of snakes in the garden?” It wouldn’t matter, in the end. Booker knew that as soon as Joe heard the good news, he’d most likely be dragging Nicky off to the nearest bedroom. 

Nicky paused. “You are not a snake,” he said softly. “You’re just lost.” 

He could feel the heat of Nicky’s stare on him, slowly peeling him apart, layer by layer. “We should go.” He walked past Nicky to continue on, praying he’d brought an end to Nicky’s change of subject. 

He heard Nicky sidle up next to him, matching his pace easily. 

“Will you tell me something about him?” The question was quiet, and Booker could tell that Nicky was embarrassed to have asked. There was a small part of him that went green with envy, an ugly side of him raging about the chances that Nicky and Joe could have a life together. That they could be cursed to eternity and still find happiness. 

But it was gone the second Booker caught the look on Nicky’s face. If anyone deserved a happy ending, it was him. Nicky had suffered enough. Booker’s grief-stricken life was mere bread crumbs to what Nicky had seen, as he had seen it alone. _No longer,_ Booker thought. If he could do anything, it was bring Nicky home. 

Booker smiled, clapping a hand on Nicky’s shoulder in reassurance. “Of course,” he said. “There was this one time that Joe lost a bet to me in Amsterdam, and had to spend two months working as a bicycle fisher.” 

Nicky gave him a shaky smile. “Really?” 

“Oh, yes,” Booker chuckled. “Joe was so pissed once he found out Andy and I bought a bicycle shop, just to dump the bikes in the canals that he was cleaning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This monster of a chapter took a lot longer than I had anticipated, so thank you for your patience. Believe it or not, there’s still a lot that I left out. AKA we will need Nicky’s POV, pronto. Poor baby. 
> 
> Thank you again for the all the love I’ve been getting on this work – the response from the last chapter was incredible! 
> 
> Also, I can’t stop thinking about these fools and this story in general, so come talk to me! I’m on Tumblr and just joined the Old Guard discord! I’m convinced I’m a boomer stuck in a millennial’s body, but I’m trying to get online more (AKA figure it out - I don't know what I'm doing, someone send help, quickly). 
> 
> Tumblr: [just-another-tinker](https://just-another-tinker.tumblr.com/)  
> Discord: just_another_tinker


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up, kiddos. 
> 
> **Potential Trigger Warnings:**  
>  Graphic depictions of violence  
> Depression/depressive thoughts  
> Mentions of suicide

_“How do you feel about cemeteries?”_

_He let out a sigh in annoyance. “In general, or is there one in particular that’s pissing you off?”_

_“Why would you assume that there is a cemetery that is pissing me off?”_

_“It’s you, Jones. You’re always pissed about something.”_

_“I think the word you are looking for is passionate,” came the response. “And how many times, how many times, must I tell you? It’s Joe. We are on a first name basis, after all.”_

_He heard Jones shift next to him, readjusting in the mud that they’d been laying in for the past few hours. It had been raining steadily for the last one, drenching both men to the bone. They were in Venezuela, south of Caracas, searching for an ambassador that had been kidnapped by a local drug cartel. When Nicolas had agreed to take this job, he knew that he would be working with others. What he hadn’t known was that said ‘others’ were Jones and his motley crew. What he also hadn’t known was that providing overwatch for the facility they were about to infiltrate meant having Jones badger on about nothing in his ear while he did so._

_“I certainly do not remember agreeing to that.” He scanned over the facility again with his sniper scope. Everything was as it should be. Armed security, but nothing he couldn’t handle. No alarms, or red flags. The other two that Jones worked with must have slipped through undetected. All he had to do was wait for their signal, and he could start picking the guards off. The ones they left for him, anyway._

_“Well, you would if you’d stop being such a stick in the mud.”_

_Nicolas sighed again. “Hard to do that when it’s raining.”_

_The rain had been another unpleasantry to an all around shitty job. He knew his work as a hired mercenary would have him end up in the same circles as the others, but it seemed like the world was going out of its way to ensure that Nicolas would continue to cross paths with Jones, much to Nicolas’s dismay._

_Unable to move from his nest, the packed earth had dampened, and now mud covered the majority of his body. He blinked the pouring water away from his eyes again, and Nicolas knew that Jones was biting back another comment. He’d already informed Nicolas earlier that his decision to wear a hood - his standard attire for jobs - would be ineffective in the rain. He’d tried to sell Nicolas on baseball caps, like the ridiculous one that Jones constantly wore. “You cannot lecture me on ineffectiveness when you wear a hat, but you wear it backwards,” he had snapped in response. Now, seeing as Jones had flipped it back around, blocking the rain from falling on his face, Nicolas had to admit he was right. Not that he would ever let Jones know that._

_“You know what I mean.”_

_“I really don’t.”_

_“Come now,” Jones whined. “This is what, our fifth job together? Surely friends such as us should be on a first name basis.”_

_“I didn’t realize we were friends,” Nicolas replied, coolly._

_“We have not tried to kill or maim each other since last summer,” Jones said. “If that doesn’t say friendship, then I don’t know what does.”_

_“To your knowledge.”_

_“What?”_

_“We have not tried to kill or maim each other since last summer, to your knowledge.”_

_He heard Jones scoff next to him. “You wound me.”_

_“Oh, I guess that breaks our streak, then,” Nicolas grinned. “So much for being friends.”_

_Jones grumbled next to him, and Nicolas’s smile grew. That man was just too easy to rile up. “Tease all you want, but I know we are friends. Friend enough to know that your first name is a sham.”_

_Nicolas groaned. “God, not this again.”_

_“I mean, come on, Nicolas? What kind of name is that?”_

_“A name you shouldn’t even have,” Nicolas snapped. “Your crook friend Booklet should not have gone digging_ — _”_

 _“His name is Booker, but actually,” Jones laughed. “Booklet is very funny_ — _”_

 _“_ — _i_ _nto my information. That was private, and_ — _”_

_“Like you didn’t dig into us as well,” Jones replied. “We have a right to know who we’re working with.”_

_“And now you know,” Nicolas snapped right back. “It’s Nicolas. So there is no need for a discussion.”_

_There was a small silence and Nicolas thought that would have been the end of it. It was a foolish thought, one that he shouldn’t have had, considering how the day had been going already. “But it isn’t,” Jones practically whined._

_“Mother of God,” Nicolas hissed. “I will not argue with you on this.”_

_“Ah, but you didn’t say I was wrong!” Jones exclaimed. “I knew it. You don’t look like a Nicolas. Besides, with jobs like ours, no one uses their real name.”_

_“Those infernal friends of yours don’t seem to doubt my name,” Nicolas snapped. “Even if they continue to bastardize it.”_

_“Nicky is a way better name that Nicolas,” Jones answered. “It just sounds better. Nicolas sounds like an elderly grandfather who carries mints in his pockets and only talks about the war.”_

_Nicolas smiled. If only he knew. “Sounds like me.”_

_“No way. If you intend to go by a name like Nicolas, Nicky is the way to do it.”_

_“If I continue to work with your friends, it doesn’t sound like I have much choice,” Nicolas griped._

_“You definitely don’t,” Jones chuckled. “And while they may be satisfied with the nickname, I will not rest until I know your birth name.” Nicolas barely stifled another groan._

_“So what do I look like to you?”_

_“Right now?” Jones asked. “I would say a drowned kitten. An angry one at that.”_

_Nicolas didn’t bother to respond, choosing instead to pray for a lightning strike. He hadn’t had the misfortune of dying that way yet, but he had always been curious. Besides, it would check off another box on his ‘Outrageous Deaths’ Bingo card._

_“I thought,” Jones continued, “that since we would be spending some time together, it would be the perfect opportunity to figure it out. You’ll tell me if I guess correct?”_

_“Sure won’t.”_

_“Perfect.” He could practically feel the radiance of Jones’s smile. “Uh, Naldo. Nathanael. Niles. Noah.”_

_“What makes you so sure it starts with an ‘N’?_

_“Because I know you, N. Smith,” Jones laughed. “And, it’s easier to remember a fake name similar to your actual one. Not to mention less documents to forge.”_

_“So you say.” Nicolas sure wasn’t going to admit that Jones was correct._

_“Napoleon? Nicodemus? Norbert?”_

_“Where on Earth are you getting these names from?” Nicolas couldn’t help but look over at the other man, shocked to see that he was holding a scrap of paper in one hand, the other cupped over it protectively, shielding it from the rain. “I’m sorry, did you make a list?”_

_Jones grinned at him. “I found a baby naming website that was very helpful,” he said. “But there are a lot more ‘N’ names that I thought.”_

_“Please, let’s talk about something else. For my sanity,” Nicolas groaned. “I’ll even talk about the damn cemetery.” Nicolas paused. “Tell me you did not visit cemeteries looking for more names.”_

_“No, no,” Jones chuckled. “I was just thinking about it because I read an article about them on the plane ride here. Did you know we’re running out of space to bury people?”_

_“Oh?”_

_Jones hummed. “With all the problems the world faces right now, that is one that I didn’t know existed. I found it interesting.”_

_“That does sound like a real conundrum.”_

_“You don’t sound too concerned about it.”_

_Nicolas wanted to laugh. Why would he? It wasn’t as if he would have to worry about it. “I just don’t have anything to contribute,” Nicolas said with a shrug, sweeping over the facility again. Literally, he would never have a dead body to give. “But I have heard of the issue before. I saw a petition online once to start burying people vertically to conserve space.”_

_“Huh,” Jones replied. “That’s clever. I’m not sure if I would want to be standing, though. Sounds uncomfortable.”_

_“I’m not sure your inanimate body would have much of an opinion,” Nicolas said. Jones’s point, however, was fairly common in the comments surrounding the petition. That, and the amount of people that were afraid they would be buried head first, aiming right for hell._

_“Where do you want to be buried?” Nicolas asked._

_“Why do you ask?”_

_“So I know which cemetery not to end up in,” Nicolas replied. “I wouldn’t want to end up laying next to you for all eternity. These few hours have been long enough.”_

_“What if we were buried next to each other vertically?” Jones asked._

_Nicolas couldn’t stop himself from snorting. “Maybe,” he chided._

_“You mean yes,” Jones chuckled. “You would be so bereft without our wonderful conversations. You would miss me.”_

_“The day that I miss you, Jones, is that day that cows will fly.”_

_“Pigs.”_

_“I’m sorry?”_

_“Pigs, not cows. When pigs fly; that is the saying.”_

_“The last time I checked, cows also could not fly.”_

_“Yeah, but the saying is—”_

_Nicolas took his left hand off the barrel of his gun and scooped some loose mud up. Without taking his eye from the scope, he chucked the mud at Jones, cursing the man silently. “Modern idioms,” he sneered, relishing in the splat the mud made as it hit Jones. “It does not translate in Italian, anyway.”_

_Jones quieted, thankfully, and Nicolas let his mind wander back to the job at hand. The other two would be in position any moment, if everything went well. Which he had no doubt that it would. As much as he griped about Jones, he had to hand it to him and the rest of his group. They were the best he’d ever worked with._

_The stakes were high with this job - as they always were - but Nicolas had no doubt that they could clean it up quickly and quietly, all in the time for - he froze, his attention being pulled elsewhere. He should have known that a quiet Jones would be just as problematic._

_Nicolas could see the stick out of the corner of his eye, Jones holding it mere inches away from his cheek. Even though it wasn’t touching his skin, Nicolas could still feel the tension between the separation, like a magnet’s pull._

_“Get that out of my face,” he hissed._

_“It’s not in your face, it’s in my hand.”_

_“Get what’s in your hand out of my face.”_

_“You’re stressed.”_

_“I wonder why.”_

_“Is it because your parents named you Nemo?”_

_“Not even close,” Nicolas sighed._

_“I figured it was a stretch,” Jones sighed. “A proud Italian such as yourself would have a strong name to match, no?” I’m older than Italy, Nicolas wanted to argue._

_“Remind me again why I’m stuck here with you?”_

_“We do not need three people to infiltrate from the west,” Jones said. “Andy and Booker are more than capable of handling it themselves. Besides,” he continued. “We thought that you could use someone watching your back. We took a vote.”_

_Ah, Nicolas, thought. The joys of democracy. Suddenly, a crackle of his radio sounded in the night. “We’re in position,” the voice said. “Ready for you to take out those guards.”_

_“Thank God,” Nicolas moaned. He echoed an affirmative into the radio before taking aim again, waiting for the men to line up perfectly. Jones was silent next to him, and Nicolas knew he wouldn’t speak again. For as much as the man jested, he was nothing but professional when it came down to it._

_He waited, already having memorized the guards’ paths hours ago. Just a little bit more, he thought. Five seconds later and the two guards were passing each other and Nicolas fired, bringing them both down in a single bullet. He pulled the bolt handle, catching the cartridge case as it ejected, slipping it into his pocket._

_“They’re down,” Jones confirmed, looking through his binoculars. “Nice shot.”_

_Nicolas picked the radio back up. “Guards are down,” he confirmed. “I’ll shoot the lights and you’ll be good to enter.”_

_“Copy that, waiting to go dark.”_

_Nicolas shifted slightly, swinging the gun to aim at the first spot light. “Natale? Nero?”_

_Nicolas shook his head, shooting another bullet, watching in satisfaction as the light shattered. He moved on to the second one._

_"Nicolò?"_

_Nicolas’s heart skipped in his chest. He bit his lip, hard, taking the second shot. How long had it been since someone had called him that? He couldn’t remember. It was a bit more old fashioned now-a-days, and he didn’t want to bring unnecessary attention to himself with a unique name. He hadn’t minded; he shed names like snake skin. But hearing Jones say it? His body locked up and trembled and Nicolas wondered if he had actually been struck by lightning._

_He heard Jones snicker next to him. “What?” he snapped, turning to face the man._

_“It is, Nicolò,_ _isn’t it? It is!”_

_“It’s not,” Nicolas answered, far too quickly._

_“It is,” Jones replied, laughing. “Want to know how I know? Because you missed.”_

_Nicolas paled, looking back down his scope. Lo and behold, the second spot light was still shining. Anger washed over him and he shot again, this time hitting the light dead center. He sprung to his feet, bringing the gun around his shoulder and grabbed the radio. “Spots are down, you are clear to engage. Jones and I will follow from the east.”_

_“Copy that.”_

_He could hear Jones beside him but Nicolas paid him no mind, shoving right past him to charge down the hilltop to the facility._

_“Nicolò,"_ _Joe said behind him. “How could I not have guessed, it suits you perfectly!”_

_Nicolas shushed him, charging faster down the hill. There was no need to rush; they had time before the other pair would reach the opposite end of the facility. But speeding down this way gave a larger chance of Jones tripping over his feet and falling the rest of the way down._

_“Relax, you’ve killed everyone out here, already,” Jones replied, his voice not even straining as he scrambled to keep up with Nicolas. He didn’t stumble on the slick hillside, not once._

_“Not everyone,” Nicolas snapped._

_“Nicolò,"_ _Jones said again, ignoring his barbed remark. “What does it mean, again? Victorious? Conqueror?” he asked. “Your mother chose wisely.”_

_Nicolas grimaced. “No, she must have thought she just had a good sense of humor, apparently.”_

_He slid the rest of the way down the hill, Jones practically skipping behind him. He stepped over the downed guards bodies, rushing over to the back door. He pressed himself against the left of it, Jones mirroring him on the right. He pulled out his handgun, gripping it tightly in his right hand, karambit curled in his left. He nodded and Jones moved back, kicking the door in._

_There were a few shouts, and Nicolas followed the noises as he stormed into the room, shooting down two men immediately. He heard the blast from Jones’s shotgun echo surely behind him, taking out a third that had taken aim at Nicolas._

_Jones tapped his left shoulder and Nicolas swiveled on instinct, heading right. Another guard burst into the room from a side door and Nicolas plugged him the the leg, the man crying out as he faltered forward, right into the arc of his swinging knife. The blade slashed through skin smoothly, and the man went down in a heap._

_With the right cleared, he looked back over at Jones, who had thrown his gun to the side, tackling the last guard onto the ground. The guard struggled, but he was no match for Jones, the man pinning him to the ground, locking an arm around his throat._

_“Two questions,” Jones asked calmly, as if he were going over a menu with a waiter at a café. “First, where’s the ambassador?”_

_“I would not try his patience,” Nicolas said, tapping his knife’s blade against the man’s chest. “He’s had nothing to do this whole time, so he’s a bit excitable right now.”_

_He saw Jones tighten his hold around the guard’s neck menacingly, the captured man’s eyes widening. “Down to the end of this hall, second door on the right,” he gasped._

_“Much obliged,” Joe drawled. “And secondly, would you rather be killed by a Nicolas, or a Nicolò?"_

_Nicolas rolled his eyes. “Unbelievable.”_

_“You’re right,” Jones said. “How about a Nicky? It sounds so much better does it not?” he asked, looking at the bewildered guard._

_“We do not have time for this.”_

_“You’re no fun.”_

_“And you are insane.”_

_The guard jolted suddenly, springing Jones onto his back to attack. Nicolas shot through his skull before he had so much of a chance. The body flopped down on top of Jones, the man grunting slightly. “I think he agreed with me,” Jones said, tugging the dead body off of him. “He liked Nicky, too.” Jones held a hand out, and Nicolas helped him to his feet before he could think better of it._

_Nicolas shook his head, fighting to keep the smile from his face. “Come on,” he said. “The ambassador.”_

_The pair jogged down the hall next to each other, clearing their path as they went. Shots echoed around them, and Nicolas knew that the other half of Jones’s team was responsible._

_Jones must have followed his train of thought. “This will be over soon,” he said. “Weaver will be pleased.”_

_“Wait, you knew Weaver before this?”_

_“Yes, we’ve worked with him before,” Jones said. “He prefers people he knows will get the job done.”_

_“I’ve never worked with him before.”_

_“Who do you think recommended you for this job?”_

_Nicolas wasn’t sure what to say to that. Was that why they’d kept running into each other? How often was Jones throwing his name around?_

_“Besides, I think we work well together.”_

_“I do not work well with others.” He paused at another doorway, nodding back at Jones before running in. There was another armed man on the other side, but he clearly hadn’t expected then to come in from the back. He charged the guard and body checked him with his shoulder, sending the man sprawling over his back. The man had barely hit the ground before a shot rang out, Jones taking care of him._

_“You know, you are not making a very strong case for yourself, my friend.”_

_Nicolas huffed, but didn’t respond. Another thing he was right about. Nicolas would be remiss if he didn’t notice how easy it was to fall into step with Jones and the others. He and Jones could spend jobs bickering like this not because they were childish, but because they could. They were so attuned to what the other would do, without anything needing to be voiced. They could carry on a normal conversation while infiltrating a drug cartel. He’d found himself falling complacent, not bothering to check corners as he knew Jones would do it for him._

_The pair jogged over to the last stretch of hallway. “Second door on the right,” Jones said, nodding at the doorway. One that was already smashed opened. Nicolas frowned, grip tightening on his gun as he aimed through the opening._

_He jumped around the corner, freezing at the dead bodies littered on the floor, the rest of Joe’s team standing in the middle, an apparently unharmed ambassador between them._

_“We win,” the woman smirked. She already had a phone to her ear, most likely calling Weaver to let him know the job was done._

_“Too slow, Nicky,” Booklet - no, Booker - teased._

_Nicolas frowned. “I was encumbered,” he said, looking at Jones._

_Jones smacked his shoulder. “You loved it, don’t lie, Nicky.”_

_The choice of name bugged him, for a reason he didn’t quite know. Why should he worry why Jones decided to call him Nicky, instead of Nicolò._ _He didn’t want the man to call him either. Didn’t he?_

 _He thought of the way Jones’s tongue curled as he said Nicol_ _ò_ _, the way he’d said it with such reverence, like it was something precious. Like it was a gift._

_You’re such a shit liar, he thought to himself._

_You can’t leave anything be, he thought later, as he cornered Jones in front of the facility. The four of them had waited with the ambassador for Weaver’s men to show up, transferring the kidnapee over to them._

_“You didn’t tell them,” he said._

_Jones hummed in question. He was wringing out his baseball cap, shaking it as well, as if it would magically dry the drenched hat any faster. Jones shook it harder, and some of the water landed on Nicolas’s face._

_Nicolas huffed and shoved at Jones, knocking the hat out of his hands and onto the wet ground. Jones whined, scooping it back up and sending Nicolas a wounded look once he saw that it was now covered in mud._

_Now who looks like the drowned kitten? Nicolas wanted to say. “This would not happen if you wore a hood,” he replied instead. Jones pouted more and Nicolas couldn’t help but take pity on him. He opened one of his vest pockets and pulled out a pile of disposable flannels, wrapped in a plastic bag._

_He took one out and tossed it at Jones, watching as the man grabbed it deftly and began wiping the hat clean. Nicolas took one for himself as well, cleaning off his face and the back of his neck._

_“Thank you,” Jones said. “What else do you have in those pockets?”_

_Nicolas grinned. “Almonds.”_

_“Almonds?” Jones squawked. “You listen to me gripe about my empty stomach all night and you’ve had almonds this whole time?”_

_Nicolas shrugged. “Must have slipped my mind.”_

_Jones shoved at him, almost sending him sprawling into the mud. Nicolas narrowed his eyes, ready to retaliate when a clearing of someone’s throat stopped him. One of the ambassador’s personal detail walked by him and Jones, casting the pair a disapproving look. Nicolas had the decency to look admonished; Jones just flipped him off._

_Jones put the cap back on, sans mud and backwards, of course. He looked ridiculous. But for some reason, Nicolas couldn’t wipe the smile from his face. “What is it you asked me?” he said, looking back at Nicolas._

_“You didn’t correct them,” Nicolas said again. “With my real name.”_

_Jones beamed at him in triumph; ‘I was right’, the smile said. Nicolas rolled his eyes again, but didn’t comment on it._

_“Where’s the fun in that?” Jones laughed. “I figured your name out fair and square; if the others want to know, they must do the same.” He looked back at Nicolas, almost shyly. “They can have Nicky. But Nicolò? Nicolò,_ _I think I will keep for myself.”_

_Nicolas felt his face burn red, The burn of indignation that he thought would accompany it never came. Instead, a slight fluttering in his chest came, and Nicolas realized that he was quite alright with the idea of Jones keeping his name._

_Nicolas shifted on his feet, looking everywhere but Jones. He heard another pair of feet sidle up to them. “The ambassador’s people will take it from here,” she - Andy - said. “Job’s done for us.”_

_Nicky nodded, grateful that she’d swooped in to stop a most likely embarrassing conversation._

_“Do you need a ride, Nicky?” she asked. “We can take you wherever you want to go.”_

_Nicolas shook his head. “I can find my own way.” He paused, before saying, “Thank you. Andy.”_

_Andy nodded before turning, heading back to their Jeep. The other - Booker - was already seated in the front, and he offered Nicolas a jaunty wave before tilting his head back to swig from his flask._

_Nicolas shook his head and turned back to look at Jones. He pretended that he saw a flash of disappointment cross the man’s face. “Alright, then,” Jones said slowly. “I’ll be sure to let Weaver know that you were the right person for the job. Not that we needed much convincing.”_

_He paused, tapping his fingers against his vest, looking like he wanted to say something else. It was Jones; he always wanted the last word. But he didn’t. He just nodded at Nicolas, before starting to retreat to the Jeep._

_“Wait.” He was just as startled as Jones was, realizing that he was the one who had spoken. Jones looked at him expectantly. “Uh, you can tell Weaver that it was a team effort,” he said. “And, if he were to hire you again, I could make myself available to help out as well,” he shrugged. “I would not need much convincing.”_

_Jones tilted his head slightly, before breaking out in a broad grin. “You are a very mysterious man, Nicolas.”_

_“Nicky,” Nicolas corrected._

_Jones shot him a questioning look, an eyebrow raised. “Oh?”_

_Nicolas just shrugged. “I would never admit that you are right,” he said. “But it might sound better than Nicolas.”_

_Jones laughed again, warm and bright, and it burrowed deep into his chest, growing like a stoking fire, spreading throughout his body until even his fingertips were tingling. “Not Nicolò?"_ _he asked._

_“It is as you said,” Nicolas replied. “Nicolò, I think, can be kept for you.”_

_It was quite a thrill seeing Jones flustered, something he didn’t think possible before today. His ever expressive eyes widened comically, his mouth gaping open like a fish. Nicolas’s toes curled, the tingling feeling returning._

_He shot an arm out for Jones to shake. Jones mirrored the movement, but skipped over his hand, clasping at his forearm instead, squeezing tightly._

_“Until next time, Nicky.”_ ~~_Jones_ ~~ _Joe paused, before adding ever so softly, “Nicolò."_

 ~~_Nicolas_ ~~ _Nicky found himself smiling again. “Until next time, Joe.”_

* * *

* * *

_Joe likes plums._

Booker had mentioned it in passing, as the pair made their way west, towards the small gathering of houses that sat on the island of Gröde. He had rambled nervously, like a dam that had opened that couldn’t be stopped, telling story after story. Nicky had soaked up each sentence in silence like a sponge. 

They had been well over halfway when Booker had told him. The car that Booker had seen had turned out to be a sort of tractor - why would they have need for cars in a place like this? - and it chugged slowly along the roadway towards that plane crash. Once it had gotten close enough, the men had slipped from the open fields and into a river that cut through the middle of the island, to hide along the bank. 

_Joe likes plums._

It wasn’t even the most startling fact that Booker had told him. Booker had said that Joe once crashed through a hotel window in São Paulo, having jumped from five floors higher with only bedsheets to secure his descent. 

Why this fact was so important, however, was because Nicky had already known it. With each passing second, Booker told more and more about a man he didn’t recognize. A man wearing Joe’s face. Each word, each story, chipped away at years of shared friendship. 

At first, he thought hearing about Joe would help. It usually does. It would give him something to focus on, something to cling to, long enough to finish the job. But it hadn’t helped. Booker had been telling Nicky about their most recent time in Amsterdam when Nicky found himself wondering why Joe hadn’t told him. And then it hit him. 

He didn’t know Joe. The _real_ Joe. He didn’t know a damn thing about him. 

The realization had suffocated him. 

All of those stories, all of those conversations. Had any of them even been real? Does he really like running along waterfronts? Had he actually seen a live buffalo? Does he like to read, but only when it rains? Did he even care about the latest futbol trades? 

Was his real name even Joe? 

_Surely friends such as us should be on a first name basis._

Nicky wanted to be sick. 

Booker must have noticed the shift in his mood, as he trailed off mid sentence, the two making the rest of the journey in silence. Currently, they were sat on the far edge of the river, as far westward as they could get to the smattering of houses. The rest of the journey would have to be made out in the open fields. Since they’d made their way over, Nicky could hear panicked voices of the island’s residents arguing over if they should head to the crash, or wait for the police to arrive. While some of the voices had trailed off - no doubt following the tractor to look for survivors (or more accurately, to gawk at the dead) at the downed plane - there were still too many left behind for Booker and Nicky to not be noticed. 

They laid in the bank, bodies pressed tightly into the gentle slope created by the river’s opening. Neither men moved, or spoke. They just sat in the mud and filth and listened. Nicky looked over at Booker and saw the other man already looking at him, a silent conversation passing between the pair to hold their position. It reminded him of hiding in the trenches, where their only hope of survival from an unseen enemy was to be still. Staying shielded by crouching in mud dugouts and under bodies of soldiers that had gotten too twitchy; their lives elongated and inevitably extinguished by the unyielding stretch of no man’s land. 

Nicky wondered if Booker had fought in any of the world wars. Per his claims, he was certainly old enough. Nicky glanced back over at him; by the way the man had jammed his body into the mud, his feet angled downwards to spring up into a sprint at any moment made Nicky think he had been there. Had Joe? 

Another wave of nausea crashed over him and Nicky shuddered, his body curling like a shriveled raisin. Booker shot him a warning look; the same look given to twitchy soldiers, before they’d catch a bullet through their brains. 

Nicky ignored him. He rolled over until he was on his back, staring into the sky. Smoke still lingered in the air from the crash. He didn’t know what to think. His thoughts had been scattered into a million pieces, like what remained of the plane. It was a maze, the paths jumbled and twisted, and Nicky kept getting lost in them, hitting dead ends, doubling back. Always leading back to the same thought. 

_Joe likes plums._

Joe _does_ like plums. Joe had told him himself. And while everything out of Booker’s mouth was to be taken with a grain of salt - he’d dug his own grave to hold all of his lies - but of all the things that Booker could have lied about, Joe’s appreciation for the fruit didn’t seem too pressing. 

_“I like plums,”_ Joe had said, as the pair sat in the apartment Nicky had rented for the job they had been on. It overlooked the market where Andy and Booker had gone to meet with their new client; Nicky’s job had been to provide cover, as always, and Joe’s job had been, well, to entertain Nicky he supposed. _As always_. Joe had already snuck down to the market earlier to pick up breakfast for them both, feeding Nicky both fresh cuts of fruit and teasing jibes, as the other man stared down the scope of his sniper. _“There’s not a lot that can beat a perfectly ripe plum.”_ He’d gone on to wax poetry about said fruit, but Nicky hadn’t listened. Instead, he had risked a glance towards his companion, and had focused on the sound Joe made when he bit into it, watching as the fruit’s juice had dripped from the corner of his mouth and into his beard. Nicky had suddenly enjoyed plums very much as well. 

Of course, Joe hadn’t informed him why he liked plums so much. It would have been a hard conversation to have had, considering both Joe and Nicky were apparently housing the same secret. Booker told him that Joe’s love of plums had started centuries ago, after being introduced to them by someone named Quynh. Who she was, Nicky didn’t know, but Booker didn’t seem too keen to talk about her. So, he kept his mouth shut. 

He hadn’t even asked how old Joe was. Nicky didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to know how long they’d shared the Earth, how long they’d walked besides each other, a pair of parallel lines, moving along together, but never crossing paths. Still, it seemed better than the alternative. One of which they had crossed paths, and Nicky hadn’t wasted a second glance. Had he passed over Joe in a market, while the man expertly bargained for fresh wares? Or maybe at a museum, as Joe stared at things he used to own now protected in glass boxes, arguing with horrifically blinded historians about how ‘things used to be’. Nicky dug his hands further into the mud, feeling it squish beneath his fingers. Maybe he’d stepped over Joe’s body once, using him as a foothold, when he’d given up and trekked straight into no man’s land. 

He didn’t bother asking for any answers. He didn’t want any more. 

He wasn’t really sure what he wanted. His fingers twitched with the need to do something, to hold something, to _kill_ something. Nicky looked back over at Booker, the other man’s attention back towards the string of houses. 

He could kill Booker again. With what he’d confessed, with what he’d _done -_ Nicky shuddered. _How? How could he do such a thing?_ There had been such rage firing in his chest, building since Booker had started to whisper to him on the plane. Rage that made him crash the aircraft, rage that made him send bullet after bullet into Kozak’s body, rage that made him kill Booker again and again. 

The first time had been an accident. As soon as Booker’s body had collapsed to the ground and Nicky saw the bloodied rock in his hand, he’d cried out. The rage had been replaced by an ocean of grief and heartbreak for killing his own friend. But when Booker gasped awake at his feet, the rage was back, stronger than ever, whispering to him like the snakes in the garden. _Do it,_ it chided. _You can’t kill what can’t be killed._

So he had. Again, and again, and again. Hoping that each death would bring some sort of enlightenment as to Booker’s actions. But it never came. All that did come was a pit in his stomach, growing after each death, filling him with dissatisfaction. How could he? Could Nicky do what he did? 

Booker was so young, blinded by his naïveté, but Nicky had been young once as well. He’d spent the first two centuries of his life on every end of the spectrum. During the First Crusade, he’d thought he’d been on a quest demanded by God himself to deliver the Holy Land. He fought ferociously, and proudly, knowing that he was doing God's work. By the Second Crusade - and long after his first death - he had lost most of his foolishness, and had concluded that he had been cursed by God for the very actions he'd done in his name. Nicky had spent those years defending a land that he’d once been sent to conquer, fighting against the men he’d once called brothers. He’d thought maybe then, maybe if he could make up for his past transgressions, God would finally grant him death. It hadn’t happened. By the Third Crusade, Nicky just stood in the middle, hoping one side would get lucky in finishing him off. 

He understood the crave for death, to feel her cold hands on his and to be wrapped in her embrace. 

But he’d been alone. Booker hadn’t. 

How different would he be, if he had someone to remove his illusions of grandeur. To spare him from searching for short cuts that weren’t there. However, if Booker was the way that he was, maybe having the others wouldn’t have helped. 

_No,_ the thought came at him viciously. He couldn’t imagine that Andy and Joe wouldn’t have helped him carry the burden; they were, according to Booker, all in the same boat. 

_You don’t know that,_ the snake hissed again. _You don’t know them._

Nicky shuddered. That much was true. He didn’t know anything anymore. Well, almost anything. 

As his world collapsed around him, Nicky was sure of one thing and one thing only: Joe likes plums. 

He clung to that knowledge like a lifeboat. 

“We should move.” Booker’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. “I don’t hear anyone.” He peeked over the river bank, before scrambling to his feet. “Come on, Nicky, now’s our chance.” Without a second glance, he tore off running, running towards the other trench, running towards the enemy. 

Nicky didn’t follow, instead pressing his body closer to the ground. He didn’t like heading out into the barren land; the gas was out there. Death was out there. Nicky burrowed further into the mud. 

_“The day that I miss you, Jones, is that day that cows will fly.”_

He cast another look to the sky, searching for the spotted animal to appear in his view. Or better yet, Joe, popping his head over the river bank, grinning down at him like a loon. His wish wasn’t granted. Instead it was Booker’s head that appeared, grabbing at Nicky’s shirt and yanking him to his feet. “What you are doing, we need to go!” 

He pushed Nicky towards the closest house, the door already wide open. Booker brought him inside and over into the room on the left. It was a bedroom, simple and small, no doubt matching the rest of the building. Nicky could hear music playing from somewhere. Through the open doorway, he saw into the kitchen, where a potato was partially chopped, as if whomever was cutting it had stopped halfway through and left. 

_A plane crash would warrant that,_ he supposed. 

“Here,” Booker said, jamming clean clothes into his hands, tearing through a small wooden dresser to get some for himself. “Change into these. I’m going to make sure no one saw us.” 

He tore back out of the room as quickly as he’d come in, leaving Nicky alone with the clothes and his thoughts. He changed mechanically, stripping away the blood and evidence of his previous activities. 

The pants Booker had given him were too short, and his pale ankles stuck out. _I’ll get arrested for showing these,_ he thought. _Wait, wrong century, wrong gender._ The thick, hand knitted sweater he donned was just the opposite, practically engulfing Nicky as he put it on. 

He didn’t need to look in a mirror to see how absurd he looked. He couldn’t wear these; he’d stick out in any crowd. They would know they didn’t belong to him, they would know that he didn’t belong here. _They would know, they would know._

He shook his head violently, groaning at the piercing buzz that rattled around in his head, like a kettle about to boil. He stared down at the stained clothes in his hands. 

How long ago had he been in this same spot, only staring at Nile’s bloody clothes, instead of his own? Had it really only been weeks? It felt as if lifetimes had passed since he’d last stood in his London flat. It had, really, in terms of the knowledge he’d gained. 

He’d spent that last night with Joe teetering on the edge, overwhelmed with the approaching black hole that was ready to swallow him, encasing him in complete emptiness as soon as Joe left. How hard had he prayed for that moment not to end, to be frozen there with Joe, sitting across the hall from each other. Even at the cusp of pure agony, he had been at his happiest. 

He’d gone to bed that night begging that for once he could be spared such pain. But now, Nicky craved it more than anything. Anything to go back to how it was before; before he’d stepped foot into Merrick’s, before he’d met Kozak, before any of it. Because his wish had been granted; he _had_ been spared the pain. But the cavernous abyss that had taken its place in his chest was worse than he could have ever possibly fathomed. 

He wasn’t sure why he felt this way. He should be happy; elated, should he not? The others - well, at least Booker, provenly - shared his affliction. He wasn’t alone. He had never _been_ alone. And yet it was due to that fact, that now he never felt more alone. 

Nicky clenched at the clothes with an iron grip. He should get rid of them. But where? He looked around the small room. He could hide them in here, but there wasn’t anywhere that wouldn’t inevitably be checked or looked through. They’d find the clothes, easy, and then they’d find him. DNA testing was an option now; how many samples had he left throughout history, ripe for the taking? He’d always made a point to clean up after himself. Even his bullet casings - _Oh God._

He’d shot those people at the crash site. He’d been so lost in his fear, in his rage. He’d left them all stacked neatly in a row. What would the police say, when they came? What would they see, if not execution style wounds on each of them, in the middle of a plane crash? 

Nicky felt his body start to tremble. He’d left the gun there. The gun, with his fingerprints. And his blood; he’d killed himself a few times just to quiet the pain. And Booker - _God -_ Booker was everywhere. He needed to go back; he needed to hide everything. Bury the gun, destroy the blood. The bodies? Maybe he could dump them into the sea. _No, no, you idiot,_ he thought to himself. Discovering bullet wounds on crash victims were one thing, not discovering any bodies at all was another. 

_Figure it out on the way, you don’t have time, you don’t have time!_ a voice was shouting at him. His breath came in shaky pants as he tried to force his way towards the door. But he couldn’t move. He couldn’t do anything, because he was still holding the clothes, what was he going to do with the clothes, _why couldn’t he figure out what to do with the fucking clothes?_

“Nicky!” 

Nicky started as Booker entered the room, dressed in his new apparel. “What are you doing, let’s go!” 

Booker dragged him out of the room and outside, and Nicky flinched as he stepped into the sun, as if the star was zeroing in on him like a spotlight, shouting _‘intruder, intruder!’_ Booker let go of his arm and Nicky fumbled to a halt, hackles rising as the distance grew between them, as if he were a child that had lost their mother. 

The other man jogged across the courtyard, where a small, standalone kiosk was. The cramped shack was filled with knick-knacks and cheap souvenirs. Booker grabbed one of the canvas bags that hung on display and shoved their dirty clothes in it, throwing the bag over one of his shoulders. _Oh._ That was… that was smart. Why hadn’t he thought of that? 

Booker waved him over, but Nicky couldn’t get his feet to move. He stood rooted in the courtyard, the buildings seemingly closing around him. _Move, you need to do something!_ People who did nothing were always noticed first. There were benches, but he had nothing to read, nothing to get him to blend in. He could walk around the courtyard, but it was small enough for anyone to know that he was just pacing. There was a pond, he could fish? _With what, you fool!_ Nicky glanced up at the constricting building again; there could be people glaring at him from the windows right now, and they would know, they would _know. “Come, come look at the man standing in the yard!”_ the faces in the window yelled. _“He doesn’t belong here.”_

Someone grabbed his arm and shook him roughly, and Nicky let out a cry of fear. “Nicky, come on! We need to get out of here,” he heard Booker say. _Yes,_ he thought. _Out of the sun._

There was nothing quite like the sun in Jerusalem. The way that it slithered into every nook and cranny, burrowing deep into his bones like molten lava. Even the metal he wore as protection was no match for the solitary, but ruthless, opponent. The sun had no weapons so it made its own, turning his armor into his own coffin, melting him, _boiling him_ from the inside out. 

Nicky shuddered again, feeling the back of his neck stick and peel on his mail coif, tacky with blood. He tugged at the restricting covering, surprised when his fingers grabbed at fabric, instead of scalding metal. The cloth was damp, not with blood, but with sweat. 

He hadn’t sweat in Jerusalem. That would have implied that he had enough water in his body to spare to sweat. 

His fingers shook at the peered up at the sun, squinting. It shone intensely through clouds of smoke; now that was familiar. But the fields painted of green with splashes of wildflowers were not.

There hadn’t been any green in Jerusalem. Jerusalem had been covered in red. 

Where was he again? _When_ was he? 

“Nicky,” came a hiss. _Who?_

Someone smacked him, a sting harsher than the sun radiating across his cheek. A shadow drew over him, hiding him from the sun, from the faces in the windows. _They know, they know._

“Nicky,” the voice said again. He followed the sound. _Booker._ “Are you with me?” he demanded. 

Nicky nodded numbly. Whether or not he believed it was another matter; he just knew this was the answer that Booker was looking for. 

“We need to go,” Booker pleaded. “There are people coming.” 

Again, Nicky nodded, but his feet refused to cooperate. Booker, however, didn’t wait any longer, yanking Nicky towards another building, this one situated by itself, separated from the others. Nicky stumbled to keep up, his breath coming in harsh pants. 

They reached the building quickly, and the door opened as easily as the last one. Booker shoved Nicky inside, closing the door behind them. Nicky’s eyes fluttered shut when he was met with a wave of cold air, the building engulfing the sun’s heat for him. 

Booker tugged at his wrist again, leading him over to a colored bench, pushing him to sit down. 

“Listen to me,” Booker said. “There’s a boat coming into the dock.” 

“Police?” Nicky asked, rubbing at his temples. The buzzing in his head got louder. 

“No, no way they’d have a boat out here so fast. I think it’s the ferry.” 

“Ferry?” 

_“Tourists,_ Nicky,” Booker answered. “Those buildings were rentals, and the souvenir kiosk is open.” 

_Oh._

“They chose a hell of a day to come for a visit,” Booker laughed hollowly. “Lucky for us.” 

“Lucky?” 

“That’s our ticket out of here, Nicky,” Booker smiled. “The ferry. Besides, tourists have phones.” 

“Why do we need a phone?” his head was throbbing again. He wanted to sleep. 

“ _The others,_ Nicky! Cascade knows about them; we need to warn them. We need to warn Joe!” 

_Joe._ “Joe?” he asked. Where was Joe? Ne needed Joe - no, he was mad at Joe - no, he needed him. 

“Yes, Joe,” Booker nodded. “You said it yourself; we need to find that man from Cascade. Which is why I need you to focus, alright? You saw the flight plan before we crashed, remember? Where were we supposed to land?” 

“What?” 

“Where were they going to take me?” Booker pressed. “If that man was going to go anywhere it would be there.” 

“I-I don’t really—”

“I need you to try, Nicky. This is the only lead we have for the others.” 

“Um,” Nicky gasped, closing his eyes. He thought of before the crash, before the rage. He had seen the flight plan. Where had they been going? He hadn’t focused on it, knowing he was going to crash the plane. All he could think of was the sliver of fear that he hadn’t felt in centuries. A fear of death. A fear that this time, his prayers would be answered and something would go wrong, and he wouldn’t wake up. A fear that he’d never get the chance to tell Joe. He’d carried that fear all the way down to the ground. Apparently it was still here, gnawing at him, consuming him. Panicking about the clothes, about the sun, about the faces in the window - they’d know who he was, _what_ he was, and they’d keep him from Joe. He’d never get to tell him. 

“Nicky!” 

“I’m thinking, I’m thinking!” he shouted, shoving the fear aside. The flight plan; where was Cascade taking Booker? He pictured the trajectory of the cartoon airplane that was on the screen. 

_Hamburg._

“Hamburg,” he confirmed. “We were heading to Hamburg.” 

“There we go, there we go!” Booker shook at Nicky’s shoulder excitedly. “Okay, okay. The ferry should be here by now. I’ll head over and grab a phone to tell—”

“I can go,” Nicky whispered. _Don’t leave me._

“No, you should stay here.” 

“I can go with you.” 

Booker sighed. “No offense, mon frère, but you look like a stiff wind will knock you over. I’ll take care of this, alright?” 

Nicky didn’t have the energy to fight any more. 

“Stay here, and don’t move,” Booker continued. “I will be right back, I promise. If anyone comes in, I don’t know, pretend to pray.” 

_What?_ Nicky wanted to ask, but Booker was already gone, heading back out the door. At least he’d taken the bag of clothes with him. Nicky leaned back on the bench, closing his eyes. Booker would take care of the clothes. Booker would take care of everything. 

_Would he?_ a traitorous voice whispered in his head. Could he trust Booker? _He’ll leave you here, he’ll leave you alone. They’ve all done it before,_ the snake hissed at him. _What’s stopping him from doing it again?_ Nicky could feel the weight of the reptile around his shoulders, the scaled skin slithering across his chin. 

He thought of the way Booker’s throat had spasmed under Nicky’s hands. He thought of how his face had turned red, how his mouth screamed in silent pain, how his eyes had bugged out of his head. He thought of how despite all that, Booker let Nicky kill him anyway. 

_No,_ Nicky thought. Booker would be right back; he had told Nicky so. He had promised. He’d get a phone and he’d call the others. He’d call the others, he’d call _Joe,_ and Joe would answer because… Joe would answer because, well, because Joe liked plums. 

Nicky rubbed a hand across his face and moaned lowly. The keen echoed across the walls of the building he was in. He opened his eyes and stared at the low ceiling, before looking down. The room was small and cluttered with matching teal colored benches, including the one he was sitting on. The walls were painted white, and covered with ornate wooden carvings. In the corner stood an even more ornately carved pulpit, the back wall housing a simple, candle covered alter. 

_If anyone comes in, I don't know, pretend to pray._

Nicky wanted to laugh. 

An island with less buildings than cities had on a single block, but of course, of course one of them was a goddamn church. 

His relationship with God was… tumultuous, at best. One that flowed like an ever changing river, over the course of his life. There were times where it roared so greatly, raging waves churning, branching out as it grew steadily. Other times the waters froze for years, or even dried up. 

Any relationship has their ups and downs. Ones that ended up with a lot more property damage and sacrilege than his, if the reality television shows he’d caught himself watching were any indication. 

It was almost comical, that he still talked with God, after all these years. Well, talked _at_ God, more accurately. For as old as he was, he thought he would have learned each of the secrets the world had to offer, God included. But there were just some things that were meant to be unsolved. 

His idea of God had changed over the years as well. He’d seen religions come and go like watching leaves from spring to fall. He’d become immersed in many of them, searching for answers he knew he’d never find. He’d even dabbled with the idea of spiritualism for a while. _Those years with Houdini really were something to be remembered,_ Nicky thought. 

He certainly wasn’t the pious man that kneeled in a stony Genovan church until his knees were bruised, nor was he the naïve Crusader who had mislabeled bigotry coursing through his veins, claiming it to be God’s own righteousness. 

But he also wasn’t the 13th century traveler who spited any concept of God or a higher power. It seemed that even as the tide changed, and his thoughts on God continued to evolve, Nicky couldn’t get himself to quit altogether. 

For as one sided as their relationship was, Nicky was a very weak man. Having God in his back pocket, as a last resort, was the one small comfort he’d allowed himself over his life. When all else failed, and he was reminded of his eternal solitude, it was a nice thought to know that God was always an option. 

He’d been fairly agnostic since the 70’s, but then again, it was the 70’s, so who wasn’t? The turn of the 21st century was a dark time, but each new century was. He was nothing if but a traditionalist, and anniversaries were always remembered, no matter how difficult they were. 

The last decade, however, had just been quiet. No grudges, no enlightenment. Just quiet. His one-sided conversations were replaced with real ones: arguments over food, heated discussions on new novels, teasing conversations over embarrassing memories. Joe and the others had taken hold inside of his heart, filling in the hollowed gaps. 

Of course it wouldn’t have lasted. 

_I am still here,_ he imagined God mocking him. _You and me, until the end._

He wondered how many times God had laughed at him. 

The church door banged open and Nicky jumped out of the pew and onto the ground, pressing his back against the cool wall, heart thudding in his chest. 

“It’s just me.” _Booker._

Booker jogged back over to him, bag of bloodied clothes still in one hand, but now also with a cell phone in the other. He took a look at Nicky and heaved out a sigh, relieved to find him still sitting there. Booker crouched in front of him, face soft, as if he were about to speak to a child. 

“Listen to me,” Booker said again. 

Nicky heaved out a sigh. “I don’t think I much want to listen to you anymore, Booker.” 

“Well, tough shit, because there’s no one else here.” Nicky eyed the cross that hung on the wall over Booker’s shoulder. God was laughing again. 

“The ferry just docked,” Booker said. “The captain told everyone that he’d already been in contact with the harbourmaster. The police have some boats already on the way; they’re going to clear the island.” 

“Okay,” Nicky answered, not really comprehending. 

“We’re not going to be able to stick around. We need to sneak on that ferry when it leaves,” Booker continued. “We won’t be able to wait around and see if Cascade sends anyone out here. Our best bet is Hamburg right now. I spoke to Copley,” he said gesturing with the phone in his hand. “The others are going to meet us there, so we need to leave, alright?” 

“Okay,” Nicky repeated. 

“I just need you to hold it together for a bit longer, alright?” Booker asked. “I’ll get you out of here, don’t worry.” 

Nicky didn’t bother answering this time. 

“Here,” Booker said, holding out the phone. 

Nicky stared at it dumbly. He certainly didn’t have anything to say to Copley. 

Booker jammed the phone into his hand, curling Nicky’s fingers around the device. “There’s someone who wants to talk to you,” Booker said. “You don’t have a lot of time, so make it quick. We need to be on that ferry when it leaves.” 

“I don’t—”

 _“Nicky,”_ Booker pressed, staring intensely at him. He waited until Nicky pressed the phone to his ear before nodding. “I’ll give you some privacy and make sure no one comes in.”

* * *

* * *

“Nicky!” 

Joe’s voice echoed in the ramshackle house in Leeds as he stormed into the main foyer, Andy and Nile hot on his tail. “Nicky, are you here?”

The only answer he got was the creaking of the floor boards beneath their feet. “Spread out,” Andy said. “See what you can find.” 

Nile charged past him, jogging up the stairs, gun in hand, calling out for Nicky as well. Andy headed left, but Joe stayed put in the front hallway, looking for any sign that Nicky had been there. Would there even be anything left to find? Nicky was painstakingly tidy; he wasn’t usually one to leave any evidence behind. 

Joe trekked further in, looking at the floor. There was a partial footprint, embedded in a pile of plaster that had fallen from the ceiling. The plaster must have stuck to the shoe, and a smattering of prints continued further into the building. _That could have been Nicky,_ Joe thought. He thought of the other man walking through the same room - what had he been doing there? 

Joe followed Nicky’s footprints with his own, like learning steps to a dance that only Nicky knew. He was looking for something, Joe realized. Poking his head into each room, searching. But for what? He thought of Nicky’s voicemail; he must have made it from here. 

_“Joe, pick up your phone. I need to talk to you about your last job. I may or may not have gotten myself a little involved, and—”_

He had stopped. Why? Joe paled as he saw another footprint. One that had a different tread than Nicky’s. He wasn’t searching for something. He was searching for _someone._ Further left, the remaining plaster was scuffed around the floor like an abstract painting. They must have fought, by the looks of it. He didn’t see blood, but the floor was littered in glass. 

“Andy,” Joe said. “There was someone else here. Someone other than Nicky.” 

“I know,” she said, walking back over to him. “Look what I found.” She handed him an empty wine bottle. _Beaujolais nouveau._

Joe’s finger shook as they curled around the bottle. _It couldn’t be._ He told Andy as such. 

“You know anyone else who drinks this shit?” 

“It could have been someone else,” Joe argued. “Booker wouldn’t attack Nicky. He wouldn’t _—_ ,” he broke off. Honestly, he wasn’t sure what Booker would or wouldn’t do anymore. 

“Why would Nicky go with Booker? He knew that something had happened with him.” _He knew to stay away._ At least, so Joe had hoped. He thought about Nicky’s last comment he’d made as they left with Booker. He thought of Nicky’s kindness. 

_Nicolò, what are you doing?_

“Nicky’s with Booker?” Nile’s voice carried from above, the younger woman hopping down the stairs to meet there. “There’s nothing up there of use,” she continued. 

“I’m not sure, but we won’t find anything else here. We need to get to Aberdeen,” Andy continued. “If Booker went with Nicky, then maybe—”

“They’re not there,” a new voice countered. Joe turned to see James Copley step into the flat, phone pressed to his ear. After the three of them had landed from Belarus, Copley had met them at the airport, traveling with them to Leeds. Joe had been less than thrilled, but Copley had been smart enough to stay out of their way, offering to check in with a few neighbors to see if they had seen anything. “Understood,” Copley said into the phone. “Give me a few minutes.” 

“Where are they?” Nile questioned, arms crossing over her chest. 

“Germany,” Copley answered. 

“How do you know?” 

Copley pointed to the phone. “Booker told me.” 

“Booker called you?” Joe snapped. “Why the hell does he have your number? I swear, Copley, it’s just one thing after another with you, and—”

“Joe,” Andy interrupted, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I asked Copley to stay in touch with Booker.” 

“ _What?_ Why?” 

“Regardless of what Booker did, we need to keep an eye on him. In case something like Merrick happened again.” 

Joe felt his eyes soften. _Oh Andy,_ he thought. 

“Well, it is happening again,” Copley said. 

“What are you talking about?” Andy replied. 

“It turns out that Nicky had been trailing Kozak for weeks to keep an eye on her and the samples,” Copley explained. “He had no idea what the samples were, but apparently knew they were bad enough to understand they couldn’t remain in her hands.” 

Joe’s chest puffed up in pride. Wasn’t that just like Nicky? _Just cleaning up some loose ends,_ he had said. _Their loose ends._ Not even getting a full view of the fire in front of him, but stepping into it anyway, if only to help them find a way out. 

“Idiot,” Andy hissed. _That too, was also correct,_ Joe mused. While he loved that Nicky was always willing to lend a helping hand, it came with the annoying side effect that Nicky was literally incapable of _not_ helping. Even if there was a detrimental cost to himself. The man had a preservation instinct of a gnat. “I told him no questions.” 

“Well, it seems that he went looking for answers himself.” 

“What was Kozak doing with the samples?” Nile interjected. “Why didn’t Nicky call any of us?”

“He had been waiting for Kozak to sign with a new pharma company to call it in,” Copley continued. “She met with a new company - The Cascade Corporation - in Aberdeen.” 

“Then why was Nicky in Leeds?” 

“Someone at Cascade must have tracked Booker here. I guess the idea of live samples were as tantalizing to them as it had been to Merrick. They told Kozak, and she had Nicky go down and retrieve him. It sounds like things went a bit south after that; it certainly explains all of Nicky’s phone calls.” 

“Things went south,” Joe repeated, throat tightening. “What the hell does that mean?” Nicky shouldn’t have been anywhere near Booker. If Cascade and Kozak were gunning for Booker, and if Nicky - brave, reckless, _foolish_ Nicky - got in the way? “Where is he?” Joe snapped. 

“Relax, he’s fine, they both are,” Copley assured. “They’re on their way to Hamburg.” 

“What’s in Hamburg?” Nile asked. 

“They think that’s where the head of Cascade is going to be. And, considering Kozak has presumably told him everything about you all, we need to track him down.” 

“Good enough for me,” Andy nodded, walking towards the door. “Let’s go.” 

Nile followed her dutifully, but Joe was stopped by Copley on the way out. “Here,” he said, holding out the phone for him. “Booker said you’d want to talk to him.” 

Joe laughed harshly. “I have nothing to say to Booker. You can inform him that he has no business hanging around Hamburg or Nicky for that matter once we get there. He can go back to whatever hole he’s crawled out of, and—”

“Not Booker. Nicky.” 

Joe paused. “What?” 

Copley gestured with the phone again. “It’s Nicky,” he said. “He’s with Booker right now.” 

Joe gasped, snatching the phone from Copley’s hand, as if afraid that it would disappear. Copley nodded and stepped outside. 

“Hello?” Joe asked, voice shaking, pressing the phone to his ear. 

_“Joe.”_

* * *

* * *

_“Nicky,”_ came a frantic response. _“Nicol_ _ò, are you alright?”_

Nicky squeezed his eyes shut, his throat clenching as he swallowed down a wave of emotion. The buzzing in his head silenced, and the body of the snake that was suffocating him slipped off his shoulders, and his focus shifted to engulf Joe. _Just Joe._

When was the last time he’d spoken to him? These weeks had crept by like decades, and just one word for Joe - _Nicol_ _ò, Nicolò, Nicolò -_ was like a burst of fresh water cascading over him, saving him from the sun, soothing the burns of his memories, filling in the cracks of his ashen soul. 

_“_ — _olò, please, you need to tell me that_ — _”_

“I’m alright,” Nicky gasped. “I’m alright, Joe.” 

A string of curses sounded over the phone, muffled slightly, like Joe had taken the phone away from his ear. Nicky imagined him pacing around, one hand on his hip, the other clamped around the phone as he muttered to himself in relief. 

“Joe, I—”

Nicky paused, mouth open, but he couldn’t finish the words. _I need to know. I need to know, Joe._ Did he? Did he want to know if Booker was telling the truth? Did he want to know that the entire foundation he’d built his life upon was nothing but lies? Fear, guilt, and raw anger built upside him, raging like a typhoon, rattling inside his chest. 

Some noise must have escaped, because Joe’s tone once again turned distraught again. _“Nicolò, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?”_

Nicky wanted to laugh. What wasn’t wrong? What didn’t hurt? “No,” he lied instead. “I’m fine, Joe,” he reiterated. “I just - I missed you, is all.” At least that part was true. No matter how much the thought of Joe burned right now, he still missed the warmth of the flames on his skin. _There are cows flying, can't you see them?_

He heard Joe let out a wet chuckle. _“I missed you too, Nicolò,”_ he said. _“I am so sorry that I did not answer your calls. I was away from my phone, and I_ — _"_

“That’s alright, Joe,” Nicky placated. “You’re here, now.” 

_“That is no excuse. You needed help, you needed me, and I wasn’t there.”_

“You worry too much.” 

_“I worry just the right amount,”_ Joe snapped in response. _“And for good reason.”_

“Joe, I’m fine,” Nicky answered. “Besides, Booker was able to help me.” 

_“Booker.”_ Nicky could hear the sneer in Joe’s voice. _“So you are with him. Nicky, you should not be with him. He shouldn’t be_ — _”_

“Booker won’t do anything.” He hadn’t been sure of what Joe had meant when he’d said the same thing to Nicky all those weeks ago, but he did now. And he knew that for as angry as he was at Booker, the statement was true. 

_“He puts you in danger, Nicky,”_ Joe argued. _“You need to leave, to get somewhere safe, and_ — _”_

“Not until the job is done,” Nicky interrupted, surprised at his own words. The job, one that he’d lost sight of in the span of mere footsteps from the plane crash. But with Joe as his scope, he could see it clearly. The police were coming. They needed to get on the ferry. They needed to get to the mainland. They needed to get to Hamburg. They needed to stop Cascade. “Not until the job is done,” Nicky said again, reaffirming himself. 

_“We can handle this, Nicolò,”_ Joe said.

“No, not without me. Not this time.” 

There was a pause over the phone, and for a second, Nicky thought that Joe had hung up. _“Alright,”_ he said, though Nicky could tell that he was less than pleased. _“Copley said that you’re going to Hamburg?”_

“Yes, that is where we need to go,” Nicky answered. “Will you come?” 

_“We’re already on our way,”_ Joe replied. Nicky could hear some rustling over the phone, followed by a thud that sounded like a car door shutting. _“I’ll be there soon, Nicolò."_

He let out a shuddering breath and his shoulders sagged, the oppressing weight lifted from him. Nicky was now sure of two things: Joe likes plums, _and_ Joe was coming to Germany to get him.

 _“We’ll meet you in Hamburg,”_ Joe continued. _“You will wait for us in Hamburg, and you will not do anything rash.”_ It wasn’t a request. 

Nicky cracked a smile. “I never do anything rash. I have you for that.” 

_“Nicky.”_ Joe was clearly past any joking mood. 

“Yes, yes,” Nicky conceded. “I will wait for you in Hamburg.”

_“Good.”_

The pair descended into silence, but neither made the move to hang up. Nicky knew that Booker would come back in soon, for the phone. It was a miracle he had waited that long. If he’d snagged that phone from a tourist, he’d have to get it back before it was noted as missing. There were few places to have lost a phone, and even fewer people to have stolen them. They couldn’t afford to draw any attention to themselves. They needed to get to Hamburg unscathed. 

_I need to know._

“Joe, can I ask you something?” 

_“Anything,”_ came the warm response. 

Nicky bit his lip. “Have you ever lied to me?” 

Joe paused over the phone. Nicky yearned to see the face he was making. _“Yes,”_ came the response, Joe’s voice soft. 

Nicky nodded, not really expecting any other answer. If everything Booker said was true, he and Joe probably went few conversations without lying. 

“Did you want to?” 

_“No,_ _Nicolò,”_ This time, his answer was immediate. _“I never want to.”_

Nicky smiled in agreement. It was never easy to lie to Joe, no matter how many times he had done so. Nicky didn’t want to lie to him either, or leave him floundering with yet another _“it’s complicated”._

“Did you have to?” 

_“I, uh, well,”_ Joe started. Nicky imagined him rubbing at the back of his head. Maybe he was wearing his baseball cap. _“Yes, Nicky. I’ve only lied to you if I felt as if it were necessary, or if I thought the truth could be harmful. I’m sorry if_ _—”_

“It’s alright, Joe. There’s nothing to forgive. I’ve lied to you as well.” From what he had gathered, probably the same kind of lies. 

_“Is this about the goulash argument?”_ Joe asked, trying to lighten the mood. _“Because it’s fine, Nicky. You can admit that mine was better.”_

“It was not—”

_“Even Andy thought so! And you know that she’s never met a meal of yours she didn’t like.”_

“Alright, alright,” Nicky conceded. “It was better than mine.” Something wet slipped down his cheek; he didn’t realize that he was crying. 

_“Where is all this coming from? Nicolò, you’re scaring me.”_

“Nothing, I just,” he gasped, clearing his throat. A creaking came from his left, and Nicky saw Booker sidle back into the church. He nodded at Nicky; it was time to leave. “I have something to tell you,” Nicky said softly.

_“Oh? What is it?”_

“No, I can’t - not over the phone,” Nicky replied. “I don’t think it would go well for either of us.” 

_“If you’re sure.”_

“Yes, I’m sure.” 

_“Well, you can tell me in Hamburg, then.”_

Fear gripped him suddenly, his fingers clenching around the phone in response, as if that would make Joe stay on the line with him. He couldn’t let Joe go. He needed to know. 

“Joe, wait, one last thing.” _I need to know._

_“Yes?”_

“You’ve been to Lake Geneva, right?” 

_“Yes, I’ve been there a few times. Why?”_

“Have you ever had gravenche before?” They’d done this many times over the course of their friendship. Bringing obscure foods to the other from places they’d travel for work, to see if they had heard of it, let alone try it. Mainly to try and see if they could guess where it was from; it was always a competition between them. Andy and Booker had joined in on multiple occasions; to date, no one has been able to find something that Andy couldn’t distinguish. Nicky had always wondered how she’d done it - halfway convinced that she was cheating with Booker - but it seemed like she was more worldly than Nicky could have ever imagined. “Remember,” Nicky reminded, “you can’t lie. That’s cheating.” 

_“I wouldn’t dream of it,”_ Joe laughed. _“I take our game very seriously, my friend.”_ Nicky huffed in response; Joe always had gone above and beyond for their little game. He’d once traveled to Nepal to search for a sweet that Booker had managed to find, just to confirm that it really did exist. _“But nice try, Nicolò; I’m sorry to say I have had it before.”_

“Me too,” Nicky smiled, blinking back more tears. “I didn’t much like it, though. It was too bland—”

 _“Too bland, yes!”_ Joe cried in agreement. 

“Well, I was just thinking of it, and I wondered if you knew of it,” Nicky said. “I am behind in our game, after all.” _One last lie to Joe,_ he thought. After this, no more. 

_“I have every confidence that you will find something else to trick me with,”_ Joe chuckled. 

“We’ll see,” Nicky answered. He saw Booker shift again; his time was up. “I’ll see you soon, Joe.” 

_“Yes, Nicol_ _ò_ _, soon. Stay safe.”_ Nicky waited for the sound of the call ending, but it didn’t come. Nicky knew that it never would. Joe would stay on the line with him until he reached Hamburg, or until the phone died, whichever came first. Nicky closed his eyes, clinging to the soft sounds of Joe’s breathing before bringing the phone down, his thumb ending the call. 

Nicky thumped his head against the church’s cool wall, and thought of Joe’s answer. _“Nice try, Nicolò, but I have tried it before.”_

Joe had promised he wouldn’t lie. If Joe said he’d eaten gravenche, then he had. Joe _could_ have eaten gravenche in Lake Geneva - if he’d been there last century. Gravenche were extinct; he’d read about it not too long ago when he’d been overtaken by a nagging curiosity of marine biology. By all accounts, the last sighting of the fish in Lake Geneva had been in the 1950’s. Over thirty years before Joe had claimed to have been born. 

Nicky felt the phone drop from his hands, his body sliding further into the floor. With a shuddering breath, he curled into his knees and began to weep. 

Nicky was now sure of three things: Joe likes plums, he’s coming to Germany to get him, and he’s eaten gravenche sometime before 1950. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This monstrous chapter makes last chapter look positively laughable. 12K words, down the hatch. I’m very proud of this one, and I hope you like it. 
> 
> I know I’ve been riding the angst train fairly hard, but big fluffy things are coming! HINT HINT, something we’ve wanted to happen for a very long time is imminent! Also, I just realized that Joe and Nicky haven’t been together since chapter 4? Why did you guys let me drag this out?? 
> 
> Also, also, shoutout to Nicky from Chapter 1:  
>  _“Read the room, kid,” Joe chuckled. “You’re practically an infant. That being said, this infant,” he continued, pointing to her, “is Nile. Nile, this is Nicolò.”_  
>  _The man smiled warmly and held out a hand for her to shake. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Nile,” he said kindly. “You can call me Nicky.”_
> 
> AKA, you can call me Nicky because only Joe gets to call me Nicolò.
> 
> Here’s some things to lighten the mood to deal with the heaving pile of angst I delivered:  
> \- Marwan Kenzari eating a plum. That’s it, that’s the tweet.  
> \- Luca Marinelli in an oversized, hand knitted sweater.  
> \- Angry, drowned kitten Nicky glaring at Joe. [[Photo Ref]](https://imgur.com/gallery/zrVbV)  
> \- Grumpy, dirty kitten Joe pouting at Nicky. [[Photo Ref]](https://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=https%3A%2F%2Fqph.fs.quoracdn.net%2Fmain-qimg-82ec84bd470e1fa31800474b42e394bb&imgrefurl=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.quora.com%2FDo-cats-know-that-they-are-cute&tbnid=lEk9blxbTny6AM&vet=10COEBEDMoyAFqFwoTCPiulcm9--sCFQAAAAAdAAAAABAC..i&docid=rDejP-PWMJrdRM&w=602&h=452&q=muddy%20cats&ved=0COEBEDMoyAFqFwoTCPiulcm9--sCFQAAAAAdAAAAABAC)  
> \- Nicky learning about extinct fish because he finds it interesting.  
> \- Do yourself a favor and learn about the crazy rivalry Harry Houdini had with Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. It’s wild.  
> \- While I’m unsure if there is an actual petition for burying people vertically, there are some very interesting articles/posts about the concept. My favorite comment I’ve seen so far: _Edit, for Christians: When the rapture comes, you’re already in missile silo mode to bust out of there._  
>  \- Booker leading Nicky around Gröde with a children’s leashed backpack. [[Photo Ref]](https://i.pinimg.com/236x/3f/b0/32/3fb0329547a4d703a4f307f661978379--kid-kid-my-children.jpg)
> 
> With each passing chapter, I’m completely blown away by the support of this fandom. Thank you! Enjoy!
> 
> -JAT


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is over 20K. I'm not even sorry. Good fuckin' luck. 
> 
> **Potential Trigger Warnings:**  
>  Violence  
> Blood/Gore  
> Death  
> Temporary Character Death

“How do you feel about cemeteries?” 

Booker stumbled at the question, casting a glance over to the man walking beside him. Nicky had been relatively quiet - _catatonic, more like -_ since Gröde. He’d allowed Booker take the lead without so much as a second glance, letting himself be pushed and prodded around like molding clay to get back to the mainland. 

Slipping onto the ferry had been easy, and no one had questioned Nicky’s ashen and lost demeanor, nor why there were two more passengers on the boat at all. There had just been a plane crash, after all. Booker had spent the whole boat ride watching the line of vessels that were heading opposite them, towards the island. By now, police would be swarming the small speck of land, the media in helicopters like buzzards, flying around their new main story for the week. 

Nicky had spent the ride staring out blankly at the ocean waves. It shouldn’t have been too concerning; it wasn’t uncommon for Nicky’s gaze to drift. Joe would always fawn when he caught Nicky doing it, saying that he was trying to solve problems lesser men couldn’t hope to understand. Booker just thought it was Nicky’s way of saying he was bored with the current conversation, detaching to debate with himself. 

But this time it had been different. Like if Booker could peek inside Nicky’s head, he’d find it empty and abandoned. 

Booker hadn’t commented. He’d never seen Nicky this way, but even he was smart enough to keep from poking at what was clearly a ticking time bomb. He’d thought Joe would have helped; he usually does, when it came to Nicky. But it had just backfired. The stories he’d told about Joe seemed to just crash into Nicky like torrent waves, smashing him again and again against a rocky shoreline. At the church, after talking to Joe, Booker had seen the exact moment when Nicky had finally quit fighting, letting the waves drag him under and drown him. 

He’d let Booker push him into a car that he’d “borrowed” from the dock, and just pressed his face against the window, staring out as blankly as he had when staring at the sea. He didn't speak again until they reached Hamburg. 

Booker had spent the drive alternating between shooting worried glances at Nicky and sending even more worried texts to Copley. The rest of the team was coming, already on a private jet to meet them in Hamburg. Copley had also already sent him the address of Cascade’s warehouse in the outskirts of Hamburg. While they couldn’t be positive that that was where Kozak was planning on taking Booker, it was the best lead that they had. And considering it wouldn't be long before it was made public that the plane that had crashed was Cascade’s, they couldn’t exactly waste time sitting around before they lost the lead they already had. 

They’d worked with less in the past, but they had been a different team then. Nicky had been able to string more than two sentences together, and Joe had still called him brother. Andy hadn’t been dying. 

At least they had Nile, now. She’d easily taken the reins after Merrick had splintered them all apart. By the looks of things, she and Copley would have to do the same, if Booker had to place a bet. 

Booker had been thinking of a way to try and convince Nicky to just sit this one out when his friend had finally spoken, asking him to head to a local cemetery in the city. Again, Booker hadn’t questioned anything, just agreeing, and following Nicky’s instructions. They had time to kill before the others arrived anyway, so Booker was more than happy for any sort of distraction for Nicky. 

They had barely parked before Nicky was hopping out of the car, walking directly over to a maintenance shed. There was no one around that he could see to be concerning - it was most likely closing for the night soon - and Nicky had slipped in and out of the shed before he could consider taking a second glance, holding a shovel. He had pushed the tool into Booker’s hands and had started to trek down the neatly lined rows, passing by crumbling headstones.

This time, Booker was the one to trail behind, completely lost. They’d walked in silence for a few minutes before Nicky spoke again, making small talk apparently. _How did he feel about cemeteries?_

“Um, they’ve always been a destination on my bucket list, I guess,” he answered, not really sure what else to say. 

Nicky hummed, but didn’t continue the conversation, heading left, towards a towering mausoleum. There was a fence around it, no doubt for restoration work, but Nicky hopped over it effortlessly and walked towards the door, not waiting for Booker to follow. 

Nicky shouldered the door open and the pair stepped inside. The air was damp and musty, and each step they took echoed throughout the otherwise silent building. Booker hadn’t been to a cemetery recently, not in over a few decades. The last time had been when Joe had scraped his drunken corpse off his youngest’s gravestone. Most people avoided them because it made them uneasy. Booker avoided them out of pure jealousy. 

Booker eyed the building warily. It was ornate and hauntingly beautiful, in a way that buildings aren’t constructed with now-a-days. Both sides were filled with lists of names, the final resting places stacked neatly on top of each other. There were a few pews spread in the middle of the room, and a cross hanging tall on the far wall. The room was dimly lit by the few stained glass windows. 

Nicky walked over to the back wall of the mausoleum. It was made up of a few alcoves, bowing out into private family crypts, gated off from the public. Nicky opened the one on the left, the rusting grate creaking menacingly as it swung open.

There was a single coffin in this alcove, laying above ground and covered in a stone chamber, like the ancient graves found in catacombs. On the top of the stone, there was a metal name plate attached. 

**VIOLA G. BOGAN** **  
****1847-1912**

“Viola Bogan. Who’s that?” 

“Me,” Nicky answered simply. 

Booker frowned. “Um, why are we at your grave? Also, why do you have a grave in Hamburg?” 

“I have graves all over the world,” Nicky answered. “I have to put my stuff somewhere.” 

Booker couldn’t help but laugh. Now that sounded like the Nicky he knew. “You sick fuck,” he chuckled. “What, storage units don’t do it for you?” 

“Storage units weren’t always a thing, you know,” Nicky countered. “There’s always been cemeteries.” 

“I just thought you would have evolved with the times. This seems a bit labor intensive.” 

Nicky snorted. “You’re not wrong. And I do have storage units, but I still have a few of these still laying around. I guess I’m sentimental. Besides, far fewer people steal from the dead than storage units.” 

“I guess you have a point,” Booker answered. He stepped around the stone chamber that encased the coffin. 

“At least I don’t have any more in the ground,” Nicky added. “Did you know that we’re running out of room to bury people?” 

Booker blinked. “I, uh, didn’t know that.” 

“I suppose they could always build a taller mausoleum,” Nicky replied. “Besides, I got sick of having to dig everything up.” 

Booker nodded. The whole conversation felt surreal to him - to be fair, most of everything that had happened since Nicky had shown up in Leeds had been surreal. If there was ever a time in which he needed a drink, this moment would certainly take the cake. 

Booker adjusted his grip on the shovel. _Wait._ “Why did you steal a shovel?” 

Nicky smirked at him. “Maybe I just wanted to see you walk into the cemetery holding it. I was hoping someone would have tried to arrest you.” 

“Oh, so you’re back to being a funny guy, now?” Booker scoffed. “Is this like your five stages of grief? Because I’m going to be honest, I preferred you homicidal.” 

“I’m not sure you would. Do you know how many ways I could kill you with this shovel? Beheading wouldn’t even crack the top five, Booker,” Nicky snapped. “Trust me, be glad for the humor, because it is the only thing stopping me from checking another box on your bucket list, and putting you in the ground.” 

He snatched the shovel from Booker’s hand before jamming the blade in between the stone chamber and the top slab. Nicky pressed his body down on the handle, the stone stab lifting slightly. Booker grabbed the edge that lifted, following Nicky’s plan, and pushing it further up and away before it toppled to the side, the crashing noise as it hit the ground booming in the room around him. 

Nicky didn’t waste any time, throwing the shovel down and opening the simple coffin that lay encased in the stone chamber. Sitting inside the coffin, however, was an impressive arsenal of weapons. It was if Nicky had robbed a museum, as the weapons inside looked like they spanned multiple centuries. A few modern pistols with ammo boxes, hunting knives, knives with blades he’d never seen before, even a longbow. Evidence of Nicky’s centuries old collection. 

There were even a few K-rations, an open bag that contained a few different currencies, as well as stacked clothes, folded neatly for use. 

Nicky yanked the oversized sweater he’d been wearing since Gröde off, the one that made him look that much more like a lost child, replacing it with one of the black sweatshirts that were in the coffin. “Help yourself,” Nicky said, gesturing to the coffin. 

“Wait, why do we even need these?” Booker asked. “The others will have guns for us, so why - _oh, absolutely not.”_

“Booker,” Nicky sighed. 

“No,” Booker repeated. “You promised Joe. You _told him_ that—”

“I promised Joe that I wouldn’t do anything rash. Scouting ahead is not rash,” Nicky countered. “So, technically—” 

Booker wanted to laugh. “You know, you two are just fucking perfect for each other,” he hissed. “And good luck with the _‘I’m Immortal’_ conversation; I’m sure it’s going to go swimmingly, with all your _‘technically’s’_.” 

“Don’t,” Nicky snapped. “Just… don’t. If you don’t want to come, I’m more than happy to leave you here.” 

“Oh, no,” Booker replied, grabbing a Glock out of the coffin. “I know one of two things is going to happen,” he said holding up a finger. “Option one, is that Joe will absolutely kill me once I fill him in on the little field trip we took together. Or option two,” he added, bringing up a second finger, “is that he will do everything in his power _except_ give me the satisfaction of death if I fill him in on the little field trip we took together, and then realize that I _let you leave.”_

Nicky frowned, and opened his mouth as if to argue, but Booker cut him off again. “So, no, Nicky. I’m going with you because, as always, I’m choosing death. And besides, regardless of what Joe will do, you are still my friend. And no offense, but you’re not exactly stable right now. I can’t in good conscience let you walk out of here by yourself.” 

Nicky cast a long look his way. More than ever, did Booker wish he knew what he was thinking about. “Fine,” Nicky said finally. He leaned into the coffin to grab a pair of pistols himself, clips of ammo, and an alarming amount of knives. One of them barely qualified, the blade large and oblong, like if Andy’s labrys had been cut in half. Where the hell did he get that one? _When_ the hell did he get that one? Nicky strapped that knife with a sheath across his back, hiding the rest of his weapons expertly on his person, and slammed the coffin lid shut. “Let’s go, then.”

* * *

* * *

Gavin Saunders   
  
You owe me a drink.   
  


James Copley frowned at the text on his phone. He’d assumed that it was another message from Booker. He certainly wasn’t expecting to hear from Gavin. 

Gavin Saunders   
  
You owe me a drink.   
  
???   
  
I found your missing doctor.   
  


So that’s why. Weeks ago, when James had first started looking into Kozak’s disappearance with Nicky, he’d reached out to a few of his contacts to keep him in the loop. Surprisingly, the intelligence community was a very tight knit group. Everyone had their own network of associates - usually global - that constantly kept each other on retainer. A _‘scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours’_ sort of thing. Most of his work with the CIA had been taking out and cashing in on different favors. Even now that he’s left his job, he’d kept in contact with some old friends. Some of whom had actually helped him gather information on his new coworkers. 

One such contact was Gavin Saunders, intelligence agent in MI5. He’d known that MI5 would have their hands all over what had happened at Merrick’s, and would be searching for Kozak. Most likely to sweep the whole ordeal under the rug, but those were just technicalities. 

Booker hadn’t mentioned what happened to Kozak in Aberdeen. In fact, the man was scarce to produce many details on Aberdeen in general, or how he came into such information about Cascade. James hadn't thought too much of it, at the time. Booker had always been fairly skittish; it had taken months of conversations to get him to even consider working with James. Besides, he’d worked with enough field agents to know that sometimes it was best left leaving the questions of _‘how’_ and _‘why’_ unanswered, as long as they got results. 

Clearly the Cascade Corporation was the most pressing matter. The threat of the Merrick-like potential had to be dealt with immediately, before it escalated any further. He’d promised to help these people, and that was a promise he intended to keep. 

James looked down at his phone again. That being said, Meta Kozak was directly responsible for most of everything that had transpired. She needed to be dealt with as well. Hopefully this time, for good. 

Gavin Saunders   
  
Kozak? Where is she?   
  
On her way to a morgue in Bredstedt.   
  


_Oh, thank God,_ was his first thought. While he was glad that MI5 was also looking for Kozak, there was the looming worry that if they did find her, she’d spill everything she knew. It was one thing if private organizations knew about the immortals; it was another thing entirely if the government found out. It would be game over for all of them. 

Gavin Saunders   
  
How'd she die?   
  
Bad luck, apparently.   
  
[www.flensberg-zeitung.de/2020/grode/3720395](https://justanothertinker.wixsite.com/missedyou)   
  


James opened the web link and blanched. He’d already seen beginning reports of a plane crash, but it wasn’t a commercial airliner, so he’d just assumed it had been a puddle jumper that had experienced some unfortunate technical issues. 

What the hell was Kozak doing on that plane? Whatever had happened, bad luck certainly wasn’t the cause. Not if she had been involved. 

He scrolled through the news blurb quickly, but there wasn’t a lot of information. MI5 was clearly notified after Kozak was identified, and now Gavin had informed James, but they hadn’t released it to the public yet. Maybe they were planning on burying it like they were with the rest of the Merrick debacle.

James leaned back in his chair, surveying the other three that sat in the plane’s cabin with him. They’d been relatively quiet since Joe had hung up the phone with Nicky. It was somewhat admirable, the way this close-knit group operated. It was similar to how the intelligence community worked, but for completely different reasons. There was no reason to ask _‘how’_ or _‘why’._ It didn’t matter to them. All that mattered was that one of them needed help, and the others moved to flock without so much of a second thought. 

“What’s wrong?” Joe asked. He’d been eyeing James for most of the flight. More accurately, eyeing the phone in his hand. James had let them know that he was still communicating with Booker, to try and fill in some gaps for them. While it was clear that Joe wanted nothing to do with Booker, he seemed more than invested with where Nicky was. 

There was some history between the pair of them; it had become more than evident to James after he’d discovered Nicky speaking with Kozak. Now, Joe was twitchy. His foot bounced, his fingers tapped on the arm rest; he glared in the direction of the cockpit, as if he could will the plane to go faster. It reminded him of himself, sitting in hospital room after hospital room, waiting for good news about his wife he knew that would never come.

“Nothing,” James answered. “I think.” 

Joe frowned, eyeing the phone again. “Are they—”

“They’re fine,” James interrupted. “They’re on their way to Hamburg right now.” The last Booker had texted him, they’d made it to the mainland and stolen a car, heading south. “This is something else,” he added, gesturing to the phone. 

“Something else we need to be concerned about?” Nile asked. 

James looked down at the phone again, eyeing Gavin’s texts. “Remains to be seen,” he answered cryptically. “I’ll let you know.” He typed out a response. 

Gavin Saunders   
  
She was on the plane?   
  
Looks like she was making a break for Germany.   
  


_Germany. Hamburg, Germany?_ Of course. If she was going to do business with Cascade, she’d head to Hamburg. That’s where Booker had said the new puppet master was at. But if that were true, why would her new employer meet her in Abedeen? Booker had said the meeting _‘went south’,_ whatever the hell that meant. But she still went to Germany? 

Gavin Saunders   
  
How the hell did she get through airport security without being flagged?   
  
Private jet.   
  
You sure it's her?   
  
Got a positive ID at the crash site. You going to tell me what this is about? The plane was American owned. The Yanks are already breaking down the door for answers.   
  


_American owned._ It must have been Cascade’s. Maybe they knew the government was after her, and sent a jet to escort her to Hamburg. _Yes, that could be it._ But then it crashed? That was too coincidental. If Kozak had told Cascade about the immortals, Cascade might have decided that she’d expunged her usefulness and decided to take care of it themselves. Cascade clearly already knew about Booker - they had been the ones to send Nicky to Leeds - so they surely knew about the others. The only other thing Kozak had was the samples. Did they take the samples and get rid of Kozak in order to clean up loose ends? 

It would certainly wrap part of their problem up with a bow. _Too easy,_ he thought, as red flags waved in his head. Something wasn’t right about this. 

Gavin Saunders   
  
Keep them occupied. Make sure that vic list doesn't go public just yet. And I need you to get your hands on the black box.   
  
No can do. I'm going to need a bit more than that, Jamie.   
  
  


James bit back a curse. Maybe MI5 wasn’t going to keep this quiet. They certainly didn’t need that on their plate, on top of everything else. 

Gavin Saunders   
  
Sorry. It's classified.   
  
No, my job is classified. I'm letting you know about Kozak as a favor.   
  
I need this one buried. Besides, you owe me for Laos.   
  
I can't go around and destroy evidence for an active investigation. You clearly know more about what happened at Merrick's than you're letting on. It's obvious that this is connected.   
  
  


_That curious mind of yours is going to get you in trouble one day._ His wife had said that to him once. Turns out she was right. She usually was. His phone chirped again. 

Gavin Saunders   
  
If you're not going to give me anything, then I suggest you lay low. This is the most I can give you, so stop poking around. Someone else is going to notice. Someone who's not me. And I won't be able to help you, then.   
  


James huffed out a deep sigh. This wasn’t a problem that he could deal with now. That _they_ could. He looked back over at Joe, the man now wringing his wrists as he looked out the window. 

There wasn’t anything they could do to fix the Kozak issue. Cascade needed to be dealt with first. They needed to get to Booker and Nicky. James typed out a reply. 

Gavin Saunders   
  
Copy that. Thanks for the heads up. We'll catch up later with that drink I owe you.   
  


* * *

* * *

“There’s one more thing you should know.” Booker grabbed Nicky’s shoulder as they walked back to their stolen car. Nicky gave Booker an exhausted look. _I know,_ Booker wanted to say. He didn’t want to shoulder anything else onto Nicky. With the weight he had already given him, it was a miracle that he was still standing. 

“What?” Nicky asked quietly. 

“It’s about Andy.” 

* * *

* * *

“What’s his name again?” 

“Jefferson Myers,” James replied, turning his computer to face the rest of the group sitting in the private jet, showing them the man’s picture. “Head of R&D at the Cascade Corporation.”

“Not the CEO?” Nile asked. 

James shook his head. “The CEO is eighty-two and is only seen twice a year at the company’s charity events. He’s just there to sign the checks,” he said. “I already sent Myers’s company photo to Booker to get a confirmation. This is the guy that Dr. Kozak met with.” 

“In Aberdeen?”

James nodded. “And now he’s in Hamburg, per Booker’s intel. We don’t know how many people other than Myers knows about you guys, but he’s the best place for us to start.” 

“What about Kozak?” James bit the inside of his lip. He’d been hoping that the question would have been glossed over, for now. Mainly because he didn’t really have an answer. He thought of the text Booker had sent him with his newly acquired phone after James had questioned him on the recent news of Kozak's death. 

Booker   
  
Shame. One less thing to worry about now.   
  
Awfully convenient that she died in a plane crash. A plane owned by Cascade, nonetheless.   
  
These things have a way of working themselves out.   
  


It was that response that had startled him. It didn’t sound like Booker, more like he’d stolen the phrase from someone else, but somehow that made it even more chilling. His initial thoughts were that Myers had gotten rid of Kozak - one less person to pay, a loose end taken care of - but now he wasn’t so sure. 

Why would Myers bother meeting with Kozak in Aberdeen if he was just going to get rid of her? Better yet, why would he do so on his own plane? Kozak was wanted by the government; surely Myers wouldn’t want to risk being associated with her, even if they were going to work together. Killing Kozak on his own plane would paint a huge target on his back, and bring a lot of questions to light. 

Which left Booker and Nicky. If there had been an opportunity to get rid of Kozak, there was no doubt that they’d take it. Had they sabotaged the plane? But when Booker had called, they’d already been in Germany? How did they get there from Aberdeen? 

There were too many questions, and not enough answers. There was a familiar scratching in the back of his brain, a tick that pushed him to find the answers - the same tick that had driven him to discover the immortals and land him where he was right now. 

“Copley?” Joe’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. 

“She’s dead,” Copley replied. There was no need to lie. Whomever killed Kozak was a lingering thread, but it was not the most pressing matter. _One less thing to worry about,_ Booker had said. He was right. Kozak was out of the picture, and only Myers remained in the frame. Once he was taken care of, then, and only then, would James think about scratching that itch. 

“Dead?” Joe asked. “How?”

James grimaced. “Back luck, apparently.”

* * *

* * *

“This is a bad idea.” 

Nicky sighed next to him. “So you’ve said. Repeatedly.” 

“Which you’ve elected to ignore. _Repeatedly.”_

Nicky shot him a dirty look. They were in northwestern Hamburg, hiding in the car park at Cascade’s distribution center. The pair had snuck in through the back, avoiding the security checkpoint at the front gate, strapped with Nicky’s weapons from his coffin cache. “The others will be here soon,” Booker continued, eyes scanning the parking lot again. “We should wait for them.” 

“We can’t wait any longer,” Nicky argued. “We have the upper hand right now.” 

“Sure doesn’t look like it,” Booker commented, nodding towards the armed guards meandering around the perimeter of the building. 

“They would have been here regardless,” Nicky said. “You saw how many men he brought to get you in Aberdeen.” 

“Yeah, and those men are all dead, now, thanks to your hijacking. The plane crash is already trending online; he’s probably long gone by now! We should wait for the others and regroup.” 

“No, he’s still here,” Nicky replied. 

“How do you know?” 

“Because even if Myers found out about the plane crash, he knew you were on the plane. And he knew you would survive. He won’t leave Germany without you.” 

“Even more reason for us to wait for the others, then,” Booker argued. “We can’t let him get away. We might not be able to die, but the two of us can’t fight all of them to get to Myers.” 

“We won’t engage,” Nicky countered, looking back over at the warehouse. “We’ll just take a look around.” 

“We can take a look around from over here.” 

“I’m not arguing with you any longer, Booker.” Nicky stood and started to slink towards the building. Booker cursed under his breath, but dutifully followed. _Hurry up, Joe,_ he thought as he chased after his friend. 

The back of the warehouse had a few huge openings, most likely heading to a truck loading dock. There were a couple of employees that were milling around, but Nicky and Booker slipped past them easily, hiding behind the parked vehicles, before heading into the loading bay. 

Stacks of crates surrounded them, no doubt filled with pharmaceuticals ready for shipment. Booker could hear more shipping workers in the background, accompanied by the sound of a forklift. 

“This way,” Nicky said, heading into a door on the left that was emblazoned with the word _UTILITIES_ painted in red. 

The pair slipped into the room, thankfully empty. The walls were filled with runs of pipes, overlapping and twisting around each other like snakes. There were a few machines and panels of various switches as well. “Nicky, there’s no other way out,” Booker said, looking around the room. “We should leave before someone comes in.” 

“One moment.” Nicky placed his hands on one of the larger pipes, following it’s trail to where it sprung from the wall. Booker watched as Nicky looked it over, before twisting the red valve that stuck out from the pipe harshly to the right. “What are you doing?” Booker hissed, but Nicky ignored him. He moved further down the pie, unplugging what looked to be a sensor, from where it was connected to the pipe. 

The pipe groaned, and Booker saw the valve attached above the pipe start to move, the arrow encased in the glass tick to the right, the numbers displayed steadily increasing. “Nicky?” tried again. 

“Plan B,” he answered simply, stepping away from the pipe. “Let’s go.” 

He didn’t even wait for Booker, just slipping right back out the door they came in and into the loading dock. Booker cursed again, but followed anyway. 

Nicky led him around the back wall, avoiding the few workers that lingered about. They reached another door and Nicky cracked it open, peeking inside. “Clear,” he whispered to Booker, ducking inside. 

_Leave, leave, leave,_ a voice warned in Booker’s head, but he knew it was going to be ignored. Nicky certainly wasn’t going anywhere. And that meant he wasn’t either. He could only hope that Joe and the others would be here soon, before Nicky did anything stupid. 

Usually, that would mean getting himself killed, but it turned out that wasn’t much of a concern anymore. Booker wanted to laugh. He was just so damn tired. 

The room they entered looked to be the workers’ lounge, thankfully empty. “We need to find Myers,” Nicky said. 

“No way we can get through here undetected,” Booker replied. “This place is crawling with hired guns.” 

“And what are we?” Nicky snapped, pulling out his pistol, checking to make sure the chamber was loaded. Booker reached for his own gun, knowing that it was only a matter of time before everything went to shit. 

“Nicky, we really should—”

But Nicky was gone, already through another door and further into the building. Seconds later, a few shots rang out and Booker groaned. _So it begins,_ he thought, chasing once again after his unhinged friend. 

_Hurry up, Joe._

* * *

* * *

“Why isn’t he answering?” Joe snapped. He could see Cascade’s warehouse, peeking out from behind a smattering of trees he, Nile, and Andy were standing behind. The air seemed electrified around him, his body tense and jittery like a magnet, as if he could feel the pull of Nicky’s presence. 

Copley had dropped the three of them off by the edge of Cascade’s property. When Booker hadn’t picked up the first few times he called, he’d left to drive around the perimeter, to see if Booker or Nicky were further out. 

Joe knew they weren’t. They’d said to meet here, so this is where Nicky should be. Key word being _should._ He heard Andy sigh, dropping the phone away from her ear as she was brought to voicemail yet again. “Call him again,” he snapped. 

“He’s not going to answer, Joe,” she replied. 

“Call him again,” he repeated, voice wavering slightly. 

“You call him, then,” Andy hissed, chucking the phone at Joe. “We’re just wasting time that we don’t—”

“You guys hear that?” Nile interrupted. She was looking over at the warehouse, and Joe’s head turned to follow her gaze. There were confused shouts that were spilling into the air. And over that, a familiar cracking sound. _Gunfire._

 _“Nicolò,_ _”_ Joe breathed, tearing into a sprint. He could hear Andy and Nile yell to him, but he paid them no mind, charging towards the sound of rapid gunfire. 

There were a few people in the car park, clearly innocent bystanders, screaming as they ran away from the building. Joe pushed passed them without a second glance, eyes focused solely on the front door, the glass shattered from the inside. 

He pulled his shotgun out from the holster strapped to his back, and stepped into the building’s entrance. An alarm was blaring, and he could hear even more shots come from further in. A door burst open from his right and an armed guard came running in, and Joe didn’t hesitate, firing a round right into his chest, sending him sprawling to the floor. 

He could hear Andy and Nile run up behind him, but Joe didn’t pay them any mind, his thoughts narrowed in on the singular mission of finding Nicky. He stepped over the guard’s body, intent on following his targeted path. 

Joe took off running down the hallway. A few more militants spilled in front of him and Joe shot past them, Andy and Nile cleaning up his scraps. He could feel his heart throbbing in his chest, beating harder with each passing footstep. _Nicolò,_ _where are you?_

There was more gunfire sounding from his left, and Joe ran towards it like a moth drawn to a flame. He burst through the door, leading to what looked like an open office space. He barely had time to look around before someone was barreling into him. Something hard smacked against his temple, and Joe caught a glimpse of something shiny glitter under the office lights. He assumed death would be following shortly, one of the hired guards getting lucky, but it never came. Instead, Joe looked up to see his assailant wearing a familiar face.

“Joe,” Nicky said, his eyes wide. 

“Nicolò.” He found himself stumbling forward, hand already outstretched to reach for Nicky. He looked as ethereal as always, wrapped in his classic look of a black sweatshirt and pants, ill fitting, but somehow making the look work more. His hair tousled and messy from where he had no doubt when messing with it, as he took his hood off. He had a pistol in one hand and a knife - _no,_ a sword, Nicky really must be pissed - in the other, held in a firm and steady grip. His skin looked more alabaster than normal under the fluorescent lights, his eyes seemingly glowing. 

How many times had he seen Nicky this way, but each time, it felt as if it were the first. Each time left Joe more breathless and stunned than the last. Something locked into place in his chest, the world righting itself. He was here. Nicky was here. _Where was here, again?_

“Joe!” Nicky said again, shouted this time, tackling him to the ground behind a desk, as another spray of bullets loosed over them. _Oh, that’s right._

Hamburg, Germany. Kozak. Cascade. Myers. Nicky. _Nicky._

Joe pushed himself to a sitting position, pressing himself against the desk to avoid the overhead shots, Nicky following suit. A wave of anger swallowed him, and he couldn’t help but shove at Nicky’s shoulder. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he hissed. 

Nicky blinked at him, innocently, and far too shocked. “What?”

“Don’t you _‘what?’_ me, Nicolò,” he snapped, slapping at Nicky again. “What happened to not doing anything rash? What happened to _‘Yes, yes, I will wait for you in Hamburg.’_?”

Nicky scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Don’t start,” he replied, hopping to his feet to shoot over the desk, before ducking back behind their cover. “You’re here now, aren’t you?” 

“Exactly,” Joe huffed, tugging Nicky to his left when he caught sight of a guard that was trying to flank them. He wrapped his arm over Nicky’s shoulder, shooting twice, the man falling dead just feet from them. “You’re just proving my point that you should have waited. We could have avoided this mess entirely!” 

“Oh please, have you seen the messes you leave?” Nicky shouted. He crawled over to the dead guard’s body, grabbing the assault rifle from his body and putting in a fresh clip. He threw the gun at Joe, who in turn chucked his shotgun back at him. This time, Joe jumped up with the fresh gun, spraying at the militia on the other side of the room. 

He felt Nicky tug more shotgun ammo out of his vest, loading that one as well. “It’s probably better that you decided to journey to Germany by pack mule,” he continued. Joe heard him cock the second gun. “We never would have made it through the door with you trampling all over the place.” 

_“Trampling?!”_ Joe squawked. Another guard burst in from his right, bounding down towards them. “I’ll show you trampling,” Joe hissed, raising his gun to shoot again, the trigger only clicking, the chamber empty. Joe growled, and just shifted his grip on the gun, smacking the barrel across the guard’s face, sending him stumbling backwards. He felt Nicky move behind him, and Joe didn’t even have to look as he dropped the empty gun, Nicky already replacing the shotgun in his hands.

The guard in front of them didn’t have time to retaliate before Nicky shot him in the leg, tipping the man forward to fumble right into Joe’s aim. A final shotgun blast sent the guard flying backwards, dead. 

“You’re welcome,” Nicky said smugly. 

“No, you’re welcome,” Joe snapped. “Because in case you forgot, I flew all the way out here to save your sorry ass, and—”

“Really?!” came a shout from their right. Joe saw Nile poke her head up from her cover, shooting further down the hallway. “You’re going to do this now?” 

“Oh, hello, Nile,” Nicky said, as if he had casually bumped into her at the market. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.” 

“Unbelievable,” Joe huffed, shaking his head. “Absolutely unbelievable.” 

“Is it?” a new voice asked. “Is Nicky not listening really that shocking?” 

Joe turned sharply, glaring at where Booker was now kneeling, crouched behind the desk adjacent to them. “What the hell are you doing here?” 

“Keeping an eye on this dumbass,” Booker answered. 

“Getting in the way, more like,” Nicky replied, frowning at the other man. 

“Enough of this shit,” said Andy, stepping into the room and shooting the remaining two guards in the room. “We need to find Myers.” 

There were no arguments from anyone, the group reforming to push further into the building. Joe only had eyes for Nicky. He seemed relatively unharmed, but Joe could still feel the itch under his skin, the alarm blaring through the building akin to the one in his own head, screaming at him to Nicky to safety. 

Joe turned to look at Nile, giving her a long look. She looked between him and Nicky, before nodding. “We’ll be fine,” she said to Joe. “You can catch up.” 

Joe mouthed a ‘ _thank you’_ before grabbing Nicky by the arm, ignoring his protests, and dragging him through another door. He huddled Nicky inside, seeing that they’d walked into a supply closet. 

Nicky looked around the cramped closet before smiling at Joe. “We really do need to stop meeting like this.” 

Joe ignored him, bundling his friend into a tight hug. As soon as he felt Nicky in his embrace, the man quickly mirroring Joe’s gesture, Joe heaved in a deep sigh, shoulders slumping in relief. Nicky was okay. He was here, and he was okay. By how tightly Nicky gripped him, he was thinking the same thing. 

“Are you alright?” Joe wasn’t sure why he asked. Everything was so far from alright; he wasn’t even sure how they’d gotten there. He tried to picture them just weeks earlier, hugging in Nicky’s flat. But the memory was muddled, overwritten by the constant fear and worry that had piled up since. _Never again,_ Joe vowed. _I’ll never leave you again._

“Not really,” Nicky said, chuckling softly as he pulled away from Joe. “But what else is new?” 

“Nicky, please, just—,” he broke off with a sigh. “Tell me you're alright. I need to know that you’re alright.” 

Nicky’s eyes softened, clapping a hand on Joe’s shoulder and squeezing. Nicky was always so warm, and Joe shivered under his touch. “I’m alright, Joe,” he promised. 

Joe nodded, heaving out another sigh. 

“Thank you for coming,” Nicky said softly. 

_“Always,”_ Joe answered fiercely. “I’ll always come for you.” Nicky sent him a crooked smile, and Joe could have wept. “Where did you get this little number, huh?” he pointed to the sharp weapon in Nicky’s hand. The shape was familiar, but he couldn’t place the name. That in itself screamed evidence that this weapon was lost to history, come and gone like Joe had seen many things do. It wasn’t all that surprising, however. Nicky had a flair for the _old fashioned,_ so to speak. It was one of the many reasons why the man took up such a large space in his heart. 

“This old thing?” Nicky asked, eyes twinkling. 

Joe smiled, shaking his head in disbelief. “What am I going to do with you?” 

_I can tell you what you can do with me,_ Joe wanted to say. 

“Let me do my job,” Nicky answered, shrugging. “There’s still work to be done.” 

“Work,” Joe scoffed. “How did we even get here, Nicolò? This doesn’t seem like ‘cleaning up loose ends’ anymore.” 

Nicky sighed, his body slumping as he leaned against one of the storage cabinets. He looked as if he had as many questions as Joe. 

“Let me guess,” Joe smiled sadly. “It’s complicated?” It was the regular game that they played, a startling reminder that they would never be more than what they were. They both had secrets, and it killed Joe knowing that he had to keep things hidden from Nicky. When Nicky had asked if he’d ever lied to him, his chest had clenched, blood curdling in his veins. Everything was so muddied between them, now more so than ever, and Joe wasn’t sure if—

“No.” Nicky’s answer pulled him from his thoughts. He looked over at him, and Joe’s heart shattered. “No, I don’t think it’s complicated. Not this time.” 

“Nicky,” Joe whispered. What was he talking about? _I need to tell you something._ That’s what he’d said on the phone. Joe had already driven himself crazy on the flight to Hamburg thinking of what it could possibly be. “What’s wrong?” 

“A lot,” Nicky chuckled sadly. “But also, nothing, I think.” 

Joe frowned. “You’re not making any sense.” 

Nicky sighed. “Joe, I really don’t know how to say this. I—”

Familiar shouts sounded in the distance, followed by more gunfire, a lot closer than Joe would have liked. Nicky huffed, obviously frustrated. “Fine, this first,” he grumbled. “Then we talk.” 

Joe nodded, waiting for Nicky to reload his gun. He swung his knife back into the sheath on his back. “You with me?” he asked. 

Joe grinned. “Always.” 

Nicky nodded, smiling in return, before opening the closet door, charging back out. The others weren’t in sight when they stepped back into the office space, but Joe could hear them, the bullets firing as telling as if they were their footsteps. 

They moved left, Joe and Nicky walking together as a single unit, as they always did. _Get back to the group,_ Joe thought. Nicky would be safer in numbers. They’d finish the job, and then Joe could get him out of here, and—

His thoughts were interrupted as Nicky barreled into his side, sending his crashing behind a concrete pillar for cover. Bullets rained around them, and he heard Nicky curse next to him, reloading his pistol. He waited for a pause in the shooting before jumping out from behind the pillar, shooting their assailant through the head. 

Joe looked around the other side of the pillar, making sure no one else would come shooting through the door. Adrenaline pumped through his body, building up inside of him like a volcano. Everything was too close, and too loud. He couldn’t afford any more mistakes; he needed to get Nicky out of here. 

“Nicky, let’s go,” Joe said, looking back towards his friend. He paled instantly, catching Nicky not staring back at him, but at his chest. More accurately, the red that was starting to stain it. 

_No. No, no, no._

_"Nicolò,”_ Joe moaned, catching Nicky as he stumbled. He fell against Joe hard, and Joe couldn’t hold back his cry as he felt the wet warmth on Nicky’s stomach brush against his own body. Nicky grimaced as they slid to the floor.

“Oops,” he grit out, as if he’d forgotten to take the trash out. Joe could see his jaw clench and his body tremble, no doubt fighting through the waves of pain. 

“It’s alright,” Joe gasped. “It’s going to be alright.” 

Nicky had the gall to laugh. It was wet and ugly, and his teeth were stained red when he tried to flash Joe a smile. “Joe,” he gasped, curling a hand over Joe’s, squeezing weakly. “I’m alright,” he said. _“Sono qui.”_

Joe grabbed at Nicky’s hand and pushed it firmly over his stomach, replacing Joe’s own. “Keep pressure on it,” he snapped, scrambling up to gather Nicky in his arms. “I’m going to get you out of here.” 

Joe yanked him to his feet, throwing Nicky’s arm not cradling his gut over Joe’s shoulder. “Joe, wait,” Nicky said, but Joe wasn’t listening. He needed to get Nicky out of here. He needed to get him to a hospital. He pushed forward, dragging Nicky with him, making his way back down the way they came, away from the firefight. 

Nicky tripped a few times before matching Joe’s pace, as if nothing was wrong. Even now, even in pain, he tried to make himself not a burden. Joe wanted to scream. “Joe, please,” Nicky said again.

“Shut up,” Joe cut him off. “I don’t want to hear it. I’m going to get you some help.” 

“I don’t need—”

Whatever Nicky was going to say was cut off by more gunfire, another pair of armed mercenaries coming around the corner in front of them. Joe scrambled immediately, pulling Nicky down to the closest cover, hissing as he felt a bullet slice through a bicep. 

“Joe, don’t—”

“Stay here,” Joe snapped, running out of cover to charge at one of the guards. He tackled the man to the ground, knocking the gun out of his hands. The pair began to wrestle, and Joe threw a few punches aimed at the man’s head before grasping at his throat. 

He was yanked off, however, by the second man, throwing Joe onto his back. He didn’t have time to get up before the second guard rammed into one of the heavy supply shelves that lined the walls, sending it toppling on top of Joe’s legs. He couldn’t help the cry of pain that left his lips, feeling the metal shelf come down hard, shattering his tibias. 

He writhed under the shelf, desperately trying to get it off of him, but it wouldn’t budge. He looked up to see one of the guards aim a gun at his head. _“Joe!”_ came another cry. 

Suddenly, Nicky was charging into view, ramming right into the other two men. He must have had another knife on him, the smaller blade already sticking out from one of the guard’s neck. Nicky grappled with the other, yanking him away from Joe. 

Joe cried out in frustration, pushing at the shelf again. He could see Nicky fighting with the other guard in the corner of his eye. _I need to help,_ he thought desperately. _I need to help Nicky._ “Nicky, run!” he shouted. He knew he wouldn't listen. Joe pushed harder, feeling tears form at the corner of his eyes. 

But then the cabinet began to lift, and Joe turned to see Booker, groaning under the weight of the shelf he was now helping to hold. Joe grunted and pushed hard, until he felt the cabinet lift far enough away for him to crawl out. 

His legs felt as if they were on fire, but he ignored them. His eyes, hazy with pain, were focused on Nicky. He was still fighting with the other guard, but he caught Joe’s gaze and paused. Paused long enough for the merc to jab him in the stomach - right over his gunshot wound - and then swept a leg around to knock Nicky to the floor, jamming the same foot down on Nicky’s neck, causing the man to cry out. 

“Booker,” Joe gasped. “Booker, help Nicky!”

Joe pushed himself onto his elbows, forcing himself to drag his still healing legs towards Nicky. The guard jerked his foot further onto Nicky’s neck, before releasing him. Nicky gasped for breath under him, but couldn’t retaliate before the militant yanked him up from the ground by his hair, shoved his gun into Nicky’s mouth, and pulled the trigger. 

_*****_

_“Quit moving.”_

_“Then budge over.”_

_Another sigh sounded from in front of him. Longer than the last; Joe didn’t know how he fit all that air in his lungs. “I am not sure if you have noticed, but we’re in a closet. I can’t exactly budge over.”_

_The man’s voice was cold and harsh, just like everything about him. His words were proud and condescending, his fighting style unrelenting and savage. Even the way he stood, how he carried himself, gave an air of discontentment._

_This man had been an uncalculated addition to his mission in Malta. One that still had to be dealt with. How he’d let the man continue to breathe was still a mystery to Joe. How he’d ended up in his current predicament, however, was that much more pressing._

_They were crammed close to each other, basically breathing the same air. An air that was thick with tension and anger; just a single strike of a match, and they’d both go up in flames. Joe could feel his assailant’s body pressed against his, all hard muscle and sharp angles. Joe was behind him, but angled awkwardly; his body twisted, as if to keep non-existent separation between him and the deplorable man, the cabinet just short enough for him to tilt his head uncomfortably._

_“You can, too,” Joe hissed. “You have so much more room than I do.”_

_“I told you, stop moving,” came the sharp whisper._

_“I will when you give me more room.” It was if Joe couldn’t find an off switch. Every response the man gave just charged him up even more, desperate to keep fighting his opponent in any way that he could._

_“Maybe I should just kill you,” the other man hissed. “You’d stop moving then.”_

_“I’d like to see you try,” Joe replied._

_“I already have,” his closetmate answered. “How’s the blood loss?”_

_Joe knew what he was talking about. What Joe had assumed to be a simple snatch-and-grab job in Malta, had suddenly turned a whole lot messier. Whomever this man was, he’d been hired by the opposing party, and had thrown a wrench right into Joe’s simple job. So much so, that they’d ended up getting locked in an endless dual, effectively destroying nothing but most of the top floor._

_This man - not that Joe would ever admit it - was far more skilled than he’d appeared. It was an unfair fight - they always were - considering that Joe couldn’t die, but he had to hand it to his new enemy. He put up a hell of a fight. He’d landed more than a few good shots on Joe, ones that were easily healed, of course, but also one that wasn’t. He could still hear his gasp in surprise when he’d felt the sharp sting of a knife pierce neatly between his ribs. He hadn’t been sure what was more shocking: that the man had pulled yet another knife out of thin air, or that he had actually managed to kill Joe._

_His assailant was just as startled when he saw Joe struggle to stand back up and chase him down to the lower level._

_“Minimal,” Joe replied cheekily. “You must have missed.”_

_An elbow jabbed back into his side, right where the blade had entered just an hour before. “I don’t miss,” the other hissed. Joe groaned, shoving back at the man. The two scuffled with each other slightly, as much as they could in an enclosed space, before they both froze at the sound of a door opening, and then closing in quick succession. A pair of footsteps marched past them, and continued down the hallway._

_The pair of footsteps that had caused Joe to end up in the closet with this demon in the first place. After chasing after his killer to the next floor, the pair of them engaged like they had upstairs, stuck in an endless stalemate. Joe would be lying if he denied that at some point it had become sort of thrilling, sparring with an equal match. The other man must have echoed his thoughts as their true missions slipped further from their minds._

_And, out of their mouths for the other to hear. Discovering that they’d both been hired to protect information that apparently didn’t exist with either parties hadn’t exactly gone well. It seemed as if his assailant was just as curious and confused as he was, as he left for answers almost immediately. Ditching Joe mid fight, as if he wasn’t worth wasting his time._

_That had angered Joe most of all, and he set chase to the other man again, intent on finding answers for himself, and finally defeating the other._

_Fortunately for him, those went hand in hand. His assailant had been hired by this party; Joe was the one that was just breaking in. He’d lead Joe right to where he needed to go. And then he could finally dispose of him._

_The man had darted quickly down the hallway, not even sparing a second glance to Joe. The not-so-simple mission had taken a turn for the worst, unfortunately, when they’d seen the owners of the footsteps - the men that had hired both of them, respectively - heading straight towards them._

_The other mercenary had bolted away quickly, shoving himself into the nearest cupboard to hide. Joe, in a pure panic, had hopped in right behind him. Not his brightest move._

_Which is where they’ve both been stuck for the past few hours, waiting for the Prime Minister and the Opposition Leader to exit the office they’d slipped into just next door._

_The pair held their breath until the footsteps finally trailed away. Then, the closet door burst open and the other mercenary stepped out, breathing out a sigh of relief. Joe followed suit and stretched, his neck voicing its disapproval, at his hunched position._

_“Something isn’t right,” his killer said._

_“Yeah, no shit,” Joe replied._

_He got a dirty glare in response. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this,” he said, pushing Joe back into the closet. “Stay out of my way. Or I will kill you.”_

_Not if I kill you first, Joe thought vehemently, jogging right after him._

_*****_

_“What the hell are you doing here?”_

_The other man turned sharply, gun already raised towards Joe. Upon seeing who he was aimed at, the Italian groaned loudly, shoulders slumping as he holstered his gun. “Paying for my sins, apparently,” he sighed. He didn’t pay Joe a second glance - Joe still clearly not worth his attention - and turned back towards the computer he had been hunched over, typing furiously._

_He looked the same as when Joe saw him last. Covered head to toe in black, pockets no doubt stuffed with knives, his face still in a permanent scowl. It had been months since Malta, and Joe had been more than happy to assume that he’d never have to see this man again. Apparently, karma had a funny sense of humor._

_“And what sins are those?” Joe asked, sidling up to the other man, peering over his shoulder. “Are you embarrassed that I escaped in Malta? You did promise to kill me, after all.”_

_I promised as well, he didn’t say. Malta had ended strangely. When it had been made clear to them that both of their employers lied, they fell into a standstill. The thing about being a hired mercenary is that while loyalties lie with the employer, they don’t necessarily have to stay there. Getting duped by the Maltese hadn’t been a highlight for Joe. He’d changed his focus to exposing the crooked politicians, so much so, that finishing off the thorn in his side had fallen from his priorities._

_The fact that Joe hadn’t died again there either, meant that the Italian had done the same._

_“Escaped,” the other man scoffed, shoving his shoulder towards Joe, pushing him away from his space. “As if the whole city couldn’t hear you huff down those cobblestones.”_

_“Excuse me?”_

_“I let you go,” the other man replied. “You weren’t worth the waste in ammo.”_

_“Whatever lies you must tell yourself so you can sleep at night,” Joe chided. He could have killed Joe (again), but he hadn’t. That realization, along with everything else that had happened in Malta, had caused him to lose a few nights’ sleep. Who was this man?_

_“You really are as big of a fool as I thought,” came the response. “Apparently my mercy was misplaced. Not to worry, I have no qualms of wasting ammo today.”_

_“Who’s to say I won’t kill you first?”_

_The other man laughed. “A fool and a comedian!”_

_Joe balled his hands into fists. Why had he wasted so much time thinking about such an infuriating man? A few snarking comments and it was like they were back in that closet in Malta. He really didn’t have time for this. “What are you doing?” he snapped._

_“My job,” came the response, the Italian tapping a few more buttons on the keyboard before grabbing the thumb drive that was attached to the side._

_“Which is?”_

_The Italian shoved past Joe, heading towards the door. “The same as Malta. Whatever you’re here to do, but the opposite,” he sneered. “Which really, I should have known that you would work for people like this. I really am going to kill you.”_

_Joe spluttered. “What the hell are you talking about? I don’t work for these people!”_

_The Italian gave him an incredulous look. “Then what the hell are you doing here?”_

_“I’m here to gather information about the sex trafficking ring that’s operating out of here and kill the Kingpin,” Joe snapped, crossing his arms defensively._

_“Oh.”_

_“Yeah, oh.” The way the Italian said it, however, meant only one thing. He bit back a sigh and gestured to the thumb drive in the other man’s hand. “I’m assuming that’s why you’re here as well?”_

_The Italian looked vaguely embarrassed. “Possibly.”_

_Great, Joe wanted to say. What are the chances? The pair stared at each other, neither moving. Joe honestly wasn’t sure what to do; this hadn’t exactly happened before. Malta should have been a one off. This was a new job, a new paycheck. A new loyalty. They were on the same side, now. Was he just supposed to forget that Malta had even happened? “Wait, you really thought I would work for sex traffickers?” he blurted suddenly._

_The Italian shrugged. “How the hell would I know? I don’t know anything about you.”_

_“Are you kidding me?” Joe gasped dramatically, slapping a hand against his chest. “We shared a closet together. We’re practically family.”_

_The other man groaned. “Don’t remind me.”_

_The pair descended into silence again. Joe was lost; what the hell was he going to do? He thought of the file Andy had handed him. He thought of the pictures, of those faces - just children, really, most of them small girls. There was only one thing to do._

_“Well, we managed to make it through that job, so we’ll do it here, now,” Joe said. “Let’s go.”_

_“I’m sorry?”_

_“We’re both here for the same thing, might as well help each other out,” Joe replied. “You’ve already got the info_ —"

_“Which I am most certainly not sharing with you.”_

_“We’ll come back to that,” Joe argued. He certainly wasn’t planning on leaving empty handed. “But I have it on good authority that our target is on his way out the door any minute now, so we should get going.” Joe paused. “Unless…”_

_“Unless what?”_

_“Are you going to kill me? You’ve promised twice now.”_

_Can I trust you to finish this job? For the girls? was what he meant._

_The Italian sighed, but didn’t take his gun back out. “I don’t think I will. We are on the same job, after all,” he said. “Besides, if I’m lucky they will shoot at you and not me.”_

_Joe hummed. The retort was as cold as ever, but Joe didn’t anger as he expected. I’ll finish this job with you, was what he meant. The Italian already had the files, and Joe had just informed him about the target. He could kill Joe and be on his merry way. But he didn’t. There’s something about this one, Joe thought. Not that he needs to know. “Charming,” Joe said, instead._

_The other man glared at Joe again, his look assessing. No doubt thinking of all the ways that this could go wrong; it wasn’t as if Joe wasn’t having the same thoughts._

_“Fine,” he said, frowning, as if he wasn’t happy with his own answer. He probably wasn’t. “Let’s go,” he agreed, opening the door and gesturing Joe through._

_“Me first?” Joe asked. “Such manners.”_

_“I’m just giving you a head start; you need every handicap you can get,” the Italian laughed in response._

_Joe felt his face burn with rage. You intolerable man, he thought. I’ll show you a handicap._

_*****_

_Joe bit his lip to stop himself from laughing._

_He could feel the heat of Nicolas’s anger radiate from besides him. Joe was half expecting steam to start billowing from his nostrils, by the way he was seething._

_Joe knew he certainly wasn’t helping, but it was fun to poke and prod at the enigma that was N. Smith. The N, of course, was yet to be determined. He had been steadily crossing potential names off his list all night, but he hadn’t been lucky just yet. Not that he was discouraged; he’d get it eventually._

_And it was something to pass the time - spending the night soaked in mud and rain was not exactly ideal. Watching N. Smith have to spend the night soaked in mud and rain, however, while listening to Joe croon in his ear and being unable to do anything about it, was most definitely worth it._

_The man seemed to have a permanent scowl on his face. Joe did not envy the ones on the other side of his scope; Nicolas’s glare alone could probably kill. Probably, if his demeanor wasn’t ruined by his apparent misery of getting stuck in the rain. His shaggy hair was plastered against his forehead, his sweatshirt and hood completely soaked and useless. Every few seconds, he had to blink the rain out of his eyes. Joe had already caught him looking at him and his baseball cap, no doubt rethinking his previous complaints. Not that he would ever tell Joe. Proud, foolish man, Joe thought._

_Andy had radioed in that they were in position, and his partner began to shoot out the spotlights. Which meant he was running out of guesses before they’d have to infiltrate the building to rescue the ambassador._

_Joe looked back down at his list, the inked names starting to bleed together from the torrential downpour._

_"Nicolò.”_

_The man jolted as if he’d been struck by lightning, and Joe watched in awe as the second bulb didn’t shatter._

_He missed._

_Joe grinned. Got ya, he thought._

~~_N. Smith_~~ _Nicolò_ _was less than pleased with his newfound discovery. Joe was more than thrilled. His body thrummed with childish delight as_ _Nicolò snapped at him, finally shooting the other bulb before gathering his equipment._

_Nicolò, Joe thought, as he chased the other man down the side of the hill to finish the job. Yes, it does suit you._

_*****_

_“A thank you would be nice.”_

_Joe panted roughly, bent over with his hands on his knees, lungs filling with the damp air from the alleyway. “I had it handled,” he huffed. His ribs certainly didn’t agree with him. It seemed that with each passing decade, the more he learned, the less he actually knew. He had no idea what sort of fighting their target had used; hell, Joe hadn’t known that it was possible to bend that way before today._

_He heard Nicky snort. “So you say,” his new friend said simply._ _Nicolò_ _was a man of few words; Joe had learned that he carried out his meaning with what was left unsaid. The tone of his voice, the gestures he made with his hands. The way his eyes stared into his._

_There was no need to think of what Nicky wasn’t saying this time. This, Joe was more than familiar with. He didn’t need to see the playful smirk on that proud face, one eyebrow raised, with his hands on his hips. No, the tone was enough. Teasing; taunting._

_Joe bit back a nasty comment, instead sticking a hand out for Nicky to take. He did instantly, his strong grip yanking Joe to his feet. It didn’t matter how much the man grumbled at Joe, he was always there to lend him a hand. Begrudgingly, of course, but he was always there. Joe - begrudgingly, of course - had to admit that he liked it._

_Joe looked down at his attacker, laying dead on the ground, blood soaking through his clothes._

_Joe tutted. “Cheater,” he said, finally looking at Nicky. He was right. Hands on his hips, face wearing a look of pure mischief. “You used a gun.”_

_Nicky scoffed. “Since when was there a no gun rule?”_

_“I was only using my hands,” Joe said with a shrug._

_“And you were losing,” Nicky drawled. “But you’re right, Joe, I apologize. Next time, I’ll just stand back and let you get your ass beat.”_

_Joe rolled his eyes, ignoring the small shiver that whipped through his body every time Nicky used his name. “What are you even doing here?” he asked, changing the subject. “I thought you were with Andy and Booker?”_

_“They certainly did not need my help,” Nicky replied. “You on the other hand…”_

_Joe shoved him, stomping down the alley with his back turned, if all just to hide the smile that was now plastered on his face._

_He could read between those lines of Nicky’s comments too. I agree, Nicolò,_ _Joe thought. I think we make a good team as well._

_*****_

_“You’ve really outdone yourself this time, Nicolò,_ ” _said Joe. It came out more like a moan as he leaned back in his chair, hands clenched around his full stomach, his eyes fluttering shut in contentment._

_He heard Nicky chuckle. “You say that every time I cook for you.” His voice was smooth, his Arabic having improved greatly since the last time they'd spoken the language. It was still heavily accented, but Joe found he actually enjoyed the way the sounds formed in Nicky’s mouth._

_“Is that such a bad thing?”_

_“No, but it does make me worry that you do not eat when I am not around.” A sharp finger poked his side and Joe jolted away, groaning as his stomach turned._

_"Nicolò, have mercy,” Joe whined. “Otherwise you will be seeing your curry again.”_

_Nicky chuckled again, but relented, standing to clear the empty plates from the table, but not before waving Joe to stay put when he made a move to help. “You’re exhausted,” Nicky said. “Just relax a bit.”_

_Joe hummed his thanks. He was in fact, exhausted. He hadn’t slept in what felt like days. He had just come from a week-long job with Booker and Andy in Lyon. Instead of heading to the nearest hotel for much needed sleep and a shower, Joe had rented a car, and drove straight to Monaco, where Nicky had been doing some recon for the time being._

_Andy had frowned at him, and Booker had sent him a teasing grin when Joe had told them he was leaving, but Joe ignored both. He usually did, when it came to Nicky. Their friendship shouldn’t exist, and they were no doubt heading for disaster, but Joe put the thoughts far from his mind. He would let himself be content for a little while longer. The threat of the future was far away, and Joe wasn’t ready to deal with it just yet. Mainly because he wasn’t sure what he planned to do._

_“You know, you could have waited,” Nicky said from the kitchen. “I was still going to be here tomorrow. I guess you must have really missed me.”_

_“Don’t flatter yourself. I only made the trip for the food.”_

_Nicky trailed back into the room, shooting Joe a dirty glare. “It’s good to know that my friendship is appreciated.”_

_It is, Joe wanted to say. More than you know._

_He slipped into the chair next to Joe’s, kicking his foot playfully. “You're such a liar.”_

_Joe hummed again. “You’re right, Nicky. I did come here for another reason.” He leaned down and opened his backpack, pulling out a small parcel._

_“Happy ‘International Talk Like a Pirate Day’!” he shouted excitedly, shoving the box into Nicky’s hands._

_Nicky stared blankly at him. “I’m...sorry?”_

_“I got you something,” Joe replied. “And you always get all huffy when I try to get you something and then you lecture me on my what do you call it? Oh yes, my ‘frivolous spending’,” he continued, rolling his eyes. “So I thought, it’s not frivolous spending if I have a good reason. And there is no better reason to buy a gift than for a holiday. And since you refuse to tell me when your birthday is_ — _"_

_“Joe, I already told you. I’ve forged so many documents with different birth dates, I’ve forgotten which one is actually mine,” Nicky interrupted._

_“That’s bullshit, and you know it,” Joe teased. “But I was not to be disheartened; I just had to get a little more creative with the holiday. So you see, my dear friend, I did not make the extra drive today for the curry - but that was a nice bonus, of course. I made it because I had to deliver this to you today. Because believe it or not, September 19th is an actual holiday, and that holiday is ‘International Talk Like a Pirate Day.” Joe pulled out his phone, opening his internet browser and shoving the phone in Nicky’s face. “I looked it up. It’s real, and it’s today. I win,” he concluded, smiling triumphantly._

_“You win?” Nicky asked, raising an eyebrow. “You do realize you’re giving me a present, right?”_

_“Yes, but now you don’t get to complain about it!”_

_“I’m sure I’ll find something to complain about,” Nicky smiled mischievously. Joe wanted to paint it._

_“Will you just play along for once?” Joe griped._

_Nicky’s smile widened. “Thank you, Joe, this gift was very kind of you,” he said softly. He held the box up to his ear and shook it gently. Joe bit his lip to stop himself from laughing. “There isn’t anything alive in here, is there?” Nicky asked. “Or something that’s going to explode?”_

_“No, nothing like that. It’s a real present, I swear,” Joe replied. Suddenly, he wished he’d lied. Wished he’d told Nicky that it was a gag gift and snatch it away before he could see it. What if he hated it?_

_The thought had hit him a few weeks ago, out of the blue. You should get something for Nicky, it whispered to him. He’d been helpless to ignore it._

_They’d never done anything like this before. Work friends don’t do these sorts of things. But they weren’t just work friends, were they? Work friends certainly don’t drive six hours in the middle of the night to see the other. Work friends don’t make curry from scratch just because one of them had a taste for it._

_“Joe.” Joe flushed, embarrassed. Joe could tell what sort of mood Nicky was in by just the way he said his name, by the weight in which he uttered it. But he’d never heard it said like this. Soft and breathy, like it was nothing more than an exhale._

_He bit his lip and forced himself to look at Nicky. But Nicky wasn’t looking at him. Instead, his sea glass eyes were wide and open, gaping down at the knife that he cradled in his hands. “Joe, its_ — _"_

_“A jambiya,” Joe answered. “Um, I know that you lost one of your knives on our last job together, and I thought that maybe I should get you a new one,” he said. “Not that you don’t already have an impressive collection,” he laughed nervously. “But I’d never seen you with a jambiya before, so I thought it was a safe bet.” He paused, noticing that Nicky still hadn’t said anything. “I know it’s not exactly an ideal gift - I don’t really have much experience. I know, it’s foolish, and—"_

_“It’s beautiful,” Nicky finally answered, voice as wispy as when he’d said Joe’s name. He pulled the dagger from the scabbard, and held it firmly in his palm. “The craftsmanship is immaculate, and the details on the hilt are…” he trailed off, leaning in closer._

_"What?” Joe asked, leaning in as well, looking for a deformity of the knife._

_“These lines,” Nicky said, trailing a finger over the engravings. “I know these lines.” Nicky looked back up at Joe. “This is your work.”_

_Joe felt his cheeks redden, his heart fluttering. To his great embarrassment and pride, Nicky claimed that he more than enjoyed sitting and watching Joe sketch, intelligent eyes tracing over each pencil stroke he made, committing it to memory. Joe found himself going out of his way to sketch more around Nicky. He was more content knowing that Nicky was watching, rather than the familiar hobby of sketching, itself. “I, uh, may have had a few inputs on the design,” he stuttered._

_“Joe,” Nicky said again. Now that he thought about it, Joe quite liked this new way that Nicky said his name. “I-I cannot,” he sighed, pausing, curling his fingers around his knife. “Thank you,” he said reverently, eyes blazing straight into Joe’s soul. “I have never received a more thoughtful gift.”_

_Joe felt his heart burst. You deserve more than what I could ever give, he thought._

_*****_

_“What the hell were you thinking?” Joe snapped as he stomped over to the rest of the group. Nicky was bent over, sitting on the floor, with one hand wrapped securely around his middle. Booker was crouched next to him, and Andy stood back glaring at the pair, arms crossed._

_“I’m thinking I got him,” came Nicky’s response. Asshole, Joe thought._

_“Technically gravity did,” Andy replied, leaning forward to poke her head out of the gaping side of the half finished building. They’d finally cornered the leader of the hacker cell they’d been tailing for months. He’d been holed up in a half finished high rise, the construction halted due to loss of funding._

_They had all been on edge, frustrated with the many failed attempts of locating their target previously. They’d thought they’d had the upper hand, now that he had cornered himself in the construction site. That was, until they had heard the telltale sounds of chopper blades cut through the air, the hacker rushing to the roof to make yet another daring escape._

_They couldn’t have afforded to let him escape again. Of course, apparently to Nicky, that meant tackling him right off the roof just seconds before he reached the helicopter. Joe, who had fallen behind, had made it to the top just in time to see the pair go tumbling off the side._

_He had cried out, loud and ugly, as he charged over to the edge of the roof, ready to hurl himself over the edge as well. Andy had caught his elbow and yanked him back, just as he had reached the corner. Below them by a few floors, laid Nicky, body half hanging to some scaffolding. The hacker hadn’t been so lucky, the man screaming until he had slammed into the ground, fifteen floors below them. Joe hadn’t cared. Joe hadn’t been able to take a breath until he had seen Nicky move slowly, dragging himself up safely onto the scaffolding._

_“But I helped,” Nicky said, chuckling slightly._

_“You think this is funny?” Joe couldn’t help but snap._

_Nicky finally looked up at him. Joe didn’t dare keep his gaze - he could feel the heat from it like the blatant warning it was. Instead, his eyes trekked over his body, looking for any sign of injury. He felt rage boil inside him when he saw the red staining his chest. “You’re hurt,” Joe said._

_“Just a scratch,” Nicky retorted._

_“A scratch my ass,” Booker hissed. “Let me take a look and_ — _"_

_“I’m fine, Booker,” Nicky said, waving him away. Just caught myself on some rebar,” he said, tugging at the rip in his shirt. “But it didn’t even go through, see? I just have another holey shirt, that’s all.”_

_“Oh, well, if that’s all, we’ll all be sure to sleep well tonight.”_

_“Joe,” Nicky sighed._

_“Don’t you ‘Joe' me,” Joe sneered. What the hell had he been thinking? What was his plan? “I don’t really much want to hear whatever bullshit you’re about to spin. What you did was stupid.”_

_“I couldn't exactly let him get away!” Nicky shouted. “If he got on that chopper, that would have been months of tracking wasted. We would have been back to square one!”_

_“And what, your first thought was too jump off a fucking building?” Joe roared. “What, did the gun in your pocket suddenly not work?”_

_“Joe, I didn’t_ —"

 _“Exactly, you didn’t,” Joe interrupted. “You didn’t stop, you didn’t think, you didn’t anything! You never do! This is not the_ _Nicolò_ _show. You don’t get to just do whatever your heart pleases and expect the rest of us to fall in line behind you and be okay with it.”_

_“Joe.” That time, it came from Andy._

_“No, I don’t want to hear it,” Joe replied, before jabbing a finger at Nicky. “You are not in charge here,” he hissed. “You don’t get to make these kinds of decisions. You are a loose canon. And we don’t have any room for them on our ship.”_

_His body shook in anger, tension coiling him tightly. More words threatened to spew from his mouth, but he felt the rawness of them in his throat, felt the tears start to form in the corners of his eyes. He turned on his heel and stalked towards the stairs and away from Nicky, away from his piercing gaze, away from his self-sacrificial pride._

_Yeah, you got him, Joe thought to Nicky, bitterly. It may have only cost you a shirt, but it almost cost me you._

_*****_

_“Joe?”_

_Joe didn’t want to look up, intent on staring at his feet worry at the threadbare carpet that made up the floor of the shitty hotel they were crashing at for the night. They’d all parted ways to turn to their usual vices, as they always did after a bad job. Andy had slinked off to God-knows-where, Booker to the bar, and Joe, well, Joe found himself standing in front of Nicky’s door._

_He finally peeked up and saw Nicky staring back at him, face carefully blank. His hair was wet, having just come from the shower apparently, and was wrapped in soft and worn clothing. He looked flushed and healthy; worlds better than how he looked just hours before. It didn’t matter. If Joe looked hard enough, he could still picture the blood smeared on his side._

_Joe realized he still had his one hand raised, balled into a fist from knocking on the door. He lowered it awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot, before presenting Nicky with the plastic bag that he held in his other hand._

_Nicky took the bag from him, and peered down at it. “What’s this?”_

_“An apology charcuterie board.” Joe rubbed at the back of his neck nervously, before correcting himself. “Well, an apology charcuterie bag, really.”_

_“Oh,” Nicky said simply. “I didn’t know those were a thing.”_

_“They’re not,” Joe sighed. “And for good reason, too. It sounded like a much better idea in my head.”_

_Nicky didn’t respond. The pair stared at each other, waiting expectantly._

_“Joe, I’m_ —"

_"Nicolò _—"__

_They both stopped, smiling awkwardly at the other._

_“I’m sorry,” Joe blurted out, before Nicky could speak again. “I should not have said those things; I didn’t mean them.”_

_“I know,” Nicky said quietly, in a tone that clearly said that he didn’t know. Joe felt his cheeks redden in shame. “You were angry.”_

_“I was worried,” Joe corrected. “You’re working with us, now, and—"_

_“I know, I’m sorry,” Nicky interrupted. “I guess I am still used to working on my own. I did not mean to jeopardize the mission. I’ll try to do better next time.”_

_“No, no!” Joe cut him off, one of his hands grasping Nicky’s shoulders. “It’s not that,” he placated. “You didn’t, you could never! I just,” Joe sighed, pausing. “You are part of the team, now. You are not expendable. Not to Andy or Booker. Not to me.” He squeezed Nicky’s shoulder again, trying to convey the weight of his words. Tried to tell him what he couldn’t. You can die, but I can’t. Don’t take risks for us, because it would not matter. “I think that you do not think that. And that is what worries me.”_

_Nicky’s face was unreadable. But then, the corner of his mouth ticked up into a smirk. “Part of the team, eh?”_

_Joe shoved at him. “Don’t gloat,” he chided. “And don’t change the subject. I’m trying to be serious.”_

_“Is that what this is?”_

_"Nicolò."_

_“Alright, alright,” Nicky replied, hands raising in surrender. “Continue with your lecture.”_

_“Just don’t do anything rash.”_

_“It was not rash.”_

_“Seemed pretty rash.”_

_“To you, maybe,” Nicky shrugged. “I knew there was scaffolding there.”_

_Joe laughed. “You are so full of shit.”_

_"Pot, kettle,” Nicky smiled in return, his hand not holding the bag of food poking him firmly in the chest._

_Joe slapped his hand away, before smiling at him shyly. “I’m sorry,” he said again. I’m sorry for yelling, he thought. But I will never be sorry for trying to keep you safe._

_“Me too.”_

_“Am I forgiven?” he asked._

_Nicky tilted his head, as if pondering. “Well, you did bring food,” he replied, shaking the plastic bag in his hand._

_“I’m glad I did,” Joe chuckled._

_“Would you like to come in?” Nicky asked. “I’m sure there is enough here to share.”_

_Joe smiled and his shoulders slumped in relief. “Yes,” he answered. “Yes, I would.”_

_“Good,” said Nicky. “You can continue to grovel as you serve me the best food that Stockholm has to offer.”_

_“Uh, it’s actually just some of the least questionable items I found in the petrol station down the street,” Joe admitted._

_Nicky just smiled. “Even better.”_

_I cannot lose this, Joe thought. I cannot lose you._

_*****_

_“She’s cheating. She has to be.”_

_“Nicky.”_

_“I do not know how, but I know she is.”_

_"Nicolò _."__

_Nicky spun around to face Joe, face stormy, hands on his hips. And his pockets_ _£500 emptier than they were that morning. They were in a rented apartment, large enough for the four of them to share. Since they’d started working together almost exclusively, it sort of became a thing. No one mentioned it._

_Andy and Booker had left for the day, no doubt to spend their new winnings from Nicky at the local market. The job was long over, but no one had made a move to pack up and leave. It seemed with each job they took, they spent more time together, loathe from separating. With the job finished and each of them laying low until the news cycles changed, it made more sense for them to spend it together than apart._

_Joe looked over at Nicky again. He was certainly more than happy with the current arrangement. He sent Nicky a sympathetic look. “How does she do it?” he asked._

_“I don’t know,” Joe lied. Yes, he did._

_“She has to be cheating.”_

_“Maybe.” She’s not, Joe thought. You’re fighting a losing battle, beloved. He ached to tell Nicky that he would never win, but part of him knew that Nicky already knew. And part of him knew that Nicky didn’t care that he knew, and still tried anyway. It was most endearing._

_“With her palette, she really is missing out on a dream career in the food industry.”_

_“I think she’d actually quite enjoy that,” Joe replied. “The food, at least. But she’d get too bored with everything else.”_

_Nicky hummed. “Some of her activities probably would be frowned upon as a food critic.”_

_Joe chuckled. “Speaking of food, let’s go eat,” he said. “It will make you feel better.”_

_Nicky snorted. “With what cash?”_

_“I’ll pay this time, my friend.”_

_“Again, with what cash?” Nicky asked, smirking. “Where do you think I keep getting this money to bet with Booker?”_

_Joe gaped at the other man, searching his pockets for the wallet he knew wasn’t there. “Thief,” he scoffed, chucking a pillow at Nicky. “Keep your sticky fingers away from my wallet!”_

_“Then stop being such an easy target,” Nicky grinned, easily dodging the pillow. He reached into his own pocket and pulled out Joe’s wallet, tossing it back to him._

_Joe peeked inside the now empty wallet. “You owe me,” he said._

_“Just add it to my tab,” Nicky replied. “If anything, use this as motivation.”_

_“Motivation?”_

_“To find out if Andy is cheating! Booker’s probably in on it, the scoundrel,” said Nicky._

_“You are unbelievable,” Joe said, shaking his head._

_“I am undeterred, Joe. I will win. I will find a food that Andy hasn’t heard of, mark my words,” he said. “In fact, there is a desert in Chile -_ _chumbeque, I believe - that will no doubt_ —"

_“Nicky, Nicky, Nicky,” Joe chuckled._

_“I’m serious, Joe!” Nicky cried. “Now, how to get there? I can’t just leave. We just finished a job, Andy would be suspicious. But I can’t say that I’m taking my leave there, as she knows that I’m going to go to Greece with you,” he continued, starting to pace across the room. Joe bit back another laugh. “No, it has to be a job. But one she wouldn’t be interested in taking.”_

_“Nicky.”_

_“Not that I could tell her where I was going, no, because that would give away where the food came from. I’d have to think of a second job, to keep her off my tracks.”_

_“Nicky.”_

_“I could say that I’m going to the States. Andy hates going there. Is it an election year? That could work,” Nicky said, running his hands through his hair. “I would have to make it look convincing, but we could do it. How hard is it to start a coup?”_

_“Nicolò,” Joe laughed. He had slumped on the nearest couch, unable to wipe his grin off his face. “You’re making yourself mad.”_

_Nicky sighed dramatically, looking back over at Joe._ _“I’m thinking about this too much.”_

_“Undoubtedly.”_

_“I cannot start a political coup in the United States, just to go to Chile, just to get some_ _chumbeque_ _.”_

_Joe snorted. “You are correct.”_

_“Not like it would matter,” Nicky sighed despairingly. “It doesn’t matter what I bring Andy, she’ll always win.”_

_“She sure will.”_

_Nicky paused again, shooting Joe a defeated look. “I’m going to go to Chile anyway, aren’t I?”_

_“Admittance is always the first step in healing, Nicolò_ _.”_

_Nicky gave him a dirty look. “You coming?” he asked._

_“Absolutely. Sounds much more fun than Greece.”_

_Nicky grinned, and Joe mirrored the gesture._

_I am so in love with you, he thought._

_*****_

_“I hope the flowers in Austria are as beautiful as I remember.”_

_Joe wanted to laugh. What does the moon know of beauty, when he cannot see the wonder of his own reflection?_

_They were in Nicky’s flat, alone, the others long gone. They’d left Booker standing alone on the river bank, the girls heading back to the hotel to lick their wounds in private._

_Joe had come back to Nicky’s apartment, unable to avoid the pull of the other man. He’d worried Joe earlier, when he found him curled in the fetal position in his hallway after they’d come back from ditching Booker. He’d never seen Nicky like that; he needed to know he was alright. At least, that was what Joe told himself. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the full truth. He just needed to see Nicky, in any way that he could._

_While Joe wouldn’t trade anything for their seven years of friendship, each meeting was becoming more and more painful. He was consumed by thoughts of the other man, overwhelmed with what was, and with what couldn't be._

_He was desperate for anything, addicted to what little Nicky could give him. So much so that he’d opened his mouth and practically begged the man to come to Salzburg with him._

_Nicky said no. Of course he had._

_There was something off about his tone, though. More hollow, like a piano out of key. Joe wanted to ask him about what was so clearly bothering him. Wanted to ask about why he’d found Nicky curled tightly in a ball in this very hallway earlier that day, as if he’d seen a ghost. Wanted to ask about the alcohol, ask him about his job, ask him about what he’d had for dinner, ask him about last week’s crossword._

_He could spend years dedicated to asking anything and everything about him, and never get bored. With each answer, Joe was ravenous for more. Desperate to reveal another layer of the man that had consumed his every thought and breath._

_He’d thrown out sketch after sketch of Nicky, knowing that it wasn’t right, that it wasn’t his full story. He wanted to trace over every inch of Nicky’s body, to know it better than his own. Joe wanted to know his fears so he could keep them far away; Joe wanted to know his dreams so that he could chase them for him. He wanted to know the shade of his eyes at every hour of the daylight. He wanted to know his thoughts before they were spoken; he wanted to kiss them from his lips._

_He wanted, he wanted, he wanted._

_He wanted Nicky to ask him to stay._

_Forget Salzburg, forget Merrick, forget Booker, forget it all. One question, just one simple question in return, and Joe would be his forever._

_It didn’t matter anymore. He could care less of the consequences. All he knew, was in that moment, that Nicky was it for him. Every step he’d taken, every year he’d lived, every answer he’d searched for, for some sort of purpose - it all led him to right here, standing in front of this man._

_“I am going to finish my job up, and then I will call you,” Nicky had promised._

_And then I will be yours, Joe thought. Because you are mine. You are all, and more._

_*****_

He wasn’t sure how he heard it, over everything else. The crackling of gun fire echoed through the room. There was an alarm blaring from somewhere, almost lost behind a more piercing wail. Someone was screaming. _Him._ His heart pumped erratically, beating against his rib cage like he would a jail cell, blood roaring in his ears. Boots squeaked against the tiled floors; someone else was shooting over him and the guard turned to run. 

But in that moment, Joe could only focus on one sound. It was so small. Dull, and muted. The sound Nicky’s body made when it fell to the ground. 

_Thud._ That was it. 

_Nicky._

Joe howled, crawling over to Nicky, bones in his legs finally healing. But it was too little too late; he’d been too late. He pushed himself to lay across Nicky’s chest, moaning at the stillness of it. He grabbed the sides of Nicky’s face. “Nicolò,” he cried, shaking him slightly. Nicky’s eyes, those wondrous swirls of galaxies and sun kissed seas were cloudy, glazed over, staring right past Joe. “Look at me,” he begged. “Nicky, look at me, _please.”_ He’d never not looked at Joe. 

His skin was ghastly and pale, splattered with droplets of ruby red blood. His mouth, one that had always been so quick and clever, one that Joe had dreamed of kissing, was silent and agape, still shocked, even in death. 

He could feel his body shaking, the volcano finally erupting. Breath stuttered in his lungs, and wetness spilled down his cheeks and onto Nicky’s face. There was movement around him, but he didn’t care. Neither did Nicky. He could feel the hum in his throat as he screamed for Nicky but he couldn’t hear it. Neither could Nicky. All Joe could focus on was the same noise, playing over and over in his head like on a record player. 

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

There was a new sound, getting progressively louder. _Joe,_ it said. A hand grabbed his shoulder and Joe turned on instinct, grabbing Nicky’s dropped knife and slashing it viciously across smooth flesh. 

Booker groaned, dropping to his knees as he curled his hands around his bleeding stomach. “Joe, it’s me,” he panted. “Joe, you have to—”

Joe roared, pouncing on the injured man, tackling him to the ground. Booker’s flailing legs knocked the knife from Joe’s bloodied grip, but he paid it no mind, leaning over Booker’s prone form, hands balling into fists. _“You,”_ he hissed, punching Booker right across the jaw. 

“Joe—”

 _“You did this.”_ He clocked Booker again before wrapping both hands around his spasming throat. “You just had to do it. You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” 

Booker said his name again, but it came out weak and squeaky, his face turning red as Joe squeezed harder. “You took everything from me,” Joe continued, his own hands starting to shake. 

“You took our family,” he snapped, hands raising Booker by the neck, just to slam it back down to the floor. “You took our trust. You took Andy. And now?” he shouted, slamming Booker’s head down again. “You took him!” 

Booker flailed under him, but Joe refused to loosen his grip. “You wish for death?” Joe roared. “I will grant it to you. I do not care how long it will take me, but I will spend the rest of my time on this Earth ensuring you get your wish!” 

“Joe, Joe, please—”

“Why him, _Basti?_ Why?” he was sobbing now, tears spilling freely down his cheeks. “ _Why did you have to take him?!”_ he moaned, letting go over Booker’s neck to pound at his chest, weakly and erratically, as sobs overtook him. 

He felt Booker’s arms wrap around him and Joe began to fight again. “Joe, stop!” 

But Joe didn’t listen, crying louder, fighting stronger. Booker flipped him over, hooking an arm around Joe’s neck, a leg coming up to wrap around his knees, forcing him to still. 

“Look,” Booker said, forcing Joe’s head towards Nicky. 

“No, _no,_ Basti, don’t make me—”

“Joe, _look.”_

He did. He stared at Nicky, who stared unblinking at the ceiling. His eyes were dull, but Joe still felt a rush of shame wash over him, as if he could still see the flash of disappointment Nicky usually gave him when he and Booker fought. 

Booker had him in an unbreakable grip, but Joe still used his free hand to reach out for Nicky, his upturned palm just out of his reach. He struggled against Booker a final time before he gave up, fingers just inches from Nicky. Another slap in the face to let him know that he hadn’t been enough. That he hadn’t reached him in time. Joe’s body wracked with shakes as he wept, before going limp in Booker’s grip. 

“It’s alright, brother,” Booker was saying to him. “Just a little bit more, I promise. It will be alright.” 

Joe refused to answer, still staring at Nicky. _I’m so sorry,_ _Nicolò,_ Joe thought. _I wasn’t enough._

Joe thought he saw Nicky’s fingers twitch, and it made him want to cry harder, as if Nicky, long gone, was still trying to comfort him. But the movement didn’t stop with his fingers. 

Nicky jolted upright suddenly, gasping as he did so. Joe saw him gag, leaning over to his side to cough up a few mouthfuls of blood. 

“There we go,” he heard Booker murmur. “About time, asshole.” 

Nicky shuddered, his hand reaching about to the back of his head as he stretched his jaw. He jumped again, head snapping around, eyes wide as he met Joe’s gaze. _“Joe.”_

Joe blinked. 

The grip holding him in place loosened, but still Joe didn’t move, eyes stuck on the dead man in front of him. “Joe,” he heard again. Nicky’s ghost was in front of him now, crystal orbs staring back at him. He startled when he felt fingers brush against his cheek. _Nicky’s._

Joe launched himself at the man, wrapping his arms around his shoulders, soaking in every inch of warmth he could. He felt Nicky mirror the gesture, his hands gripping tightly across Joe’s back. “Nicky,” Joe whispered. “Nicky. _Nicolò.”_

Nicky leaned far enough back to press their foreheads together. “Sono qui, Joe. _Sono qui_.” 

Joe trembled against the other man, their breaths intermingling. Their eyes locked a final time before Nicky said something under his breath, too quiet for Joe to hear, before bringing their lips together. 

If anyone had asked him how he thought it would have been to be kissed by Nicolò, Joe would have wasted their whole afternoon with a discussion. He’d tell them that it would feel like they were being overwhelmed in an unseen embrace. Soft, but secure and firm. _Safe._ He’d tell them that Nicky would kiss like he did everything else - he’d give, and he’d give, and he’d give. He’d tell them that he thought Nicky would taste of tea leaves, whatever new blend he was trying at that time, and smell vaguely of oil, from when he’d cleaned his weapons with the same intense focus and reverence as he now kissed with. He’d lament to them on how it would feel to have the man’s nose drag against his. To feel his steady grip cradle Joe’s face. To feel the warmth of his breath across his cheek. 

It was laughable, how wrong he was. 

Nicky grabbed Joe by the back of his head, fingers twisting in his unruly curls, and _yanked,_ guiding Joe’s mouth to meet his. Their noses smashed together awkwardly, and Nicky tilted Joe’s head with another pull of his hair, sealing their mouths together. He _took._ He pressed Joe against him with a harsh grip, his lips moving roughly against Joe’s own. Joe shuddered and relented immediately, letting Nicky push further into his mouth, as if he were intent on stealing the breath from Joe’s own lungs. He smelled of sweat, of _fire and smoke._ He tasted of blood. 

It was perfect. And Joe was addicted. 

Joe pushed closer to Nicky, trying to mold their bodies as one. It was everything that Joe could have ever dreamed of imagining, but it still wasn’t enough. He wouldn’t be satisfied until Nicky engulfed him, wholly and completely. Nicky seemed to match his fervor, his hands trailing frantically over Joe’s body, mapping it under his fingers for the first time. 

“I’ll, uh, watch the door, I guess,” Booker might have said. He wasn’t sure, too focused on the way that Nicky was now biting down his throat. 

Joe leaned his head back and sighed, fingers still curled tightly around Nicky’s back. He felt the other man hum in satisfaction, and Joe shivered, feeling the noise reverberate against his own neck. He ducked his head down to press their mouths together again, wanting to feel it against his lips. 

But then Nicky pulled away, even after Joe felt himself lean forward to chase him. “Joe,” he said, voice hoarse. He’d never heard Nicky say it that way before. Joe would give anything to hear it again. 

Joe shifted his grip, but gasped as his hand ran through blood that was caked onto Nicky’s neck. 

Nicky had been shot. Twice. Nicky had _died._

Joe pulled away, looking at the blood on his fingers before turning back to Nicky. “I-I don’t understand,” he whispered. 

“Yes, you do,” Nicky replied simply. 

“No, I...Nicky, you—,” he broke off again, only able to focus on the blood. Nicky’s blood, smeared on his chest. Nicky’s blood, cooling on his fingers. Nicky’s blood, lingering on his tongue. 

“Joe,” Nicky said. He grabbed one of Joe’s hands and pressed it to his stomach. Joe flinched, expecting to still feel the open wounds, rivulets of red spilling between his fingers. But there was nothing there but smooth skin. Nicky brought Joe’s other hand to reach around the base of his skull. It was also still slick, and there were a few chunks of things that Joe would rather not figure out clumped in Nicky’s hair, but he could still feel the full base of his skull, completely healed and solid. 

What was happening? Was he dreaming? Nicolò was here, and he wasn’t dead. He’d been shot, he’d been _killed,_ but he wasn’t dead. How could this be? That would mean that Nicky was… “You?” he asked, voice wavering. 

Nicky nodded slowly. 

He took Joe’s hand that was cradling his stomach upwards, until it rested against his breastbone. “Stockholm,” Nicky said. Images of past nightmares sprung forward, of Nicky teetering on the edge of the scaffolding, hanging on for dear life. Joe sucked in a sharp breath, but Nicky pushed his hand harder against his chest, once again, only finding smooth skin. Joe could feel Nicky’s pounding heartbeat reverberate under his touch. _Alive._

“You,” Joe said again, unable to think of anything else. _Him._ Alive. Breathing. _Immortal._

“Me,” Nicky agreed softly before adding, “and _you.”_

Nicky let go of Joe’s hands to reach for his neck, his grip gentle. “London,” Nicky said. Joe remembered standing in Nicky’s flat just last month, lying, and telling him that it was someone else’s. Joe nodded. 

Nicky hummed, moving his hand to grip his bicep. “Brazil,” he continued. Joe huffed, but nodded again. What a nightmare that mission had been. That was the first time he’d seen Nicky cry - the only time, until this moment, now - when they’d lost those innocents, those children. Joe had gotten his hand caught in his rappelling equipment and had shattered his arm. He had to spend the rest of the mission left handed, to stop Nicky from asking questions. 

Finally, Nicky’s hand trailed down the left side of his chest, curling around his ribs. “Malta?” It was a question this time, although Joe suspected it was one Nicky already knew the answer for. Nicky’s finger rubbed at the skin between two of his ribs, right where the blade had pierced him. 

Joe smiled ruefully. “It’s as you said,” he answered. “You don’t miss.”

Nicky squeezed his eyes shut, and Joe felt him shudder. Joe knocked his forehead against Nicky’s. “I’m alright,” he said. “You’re alright,” he added, if only for himself. Nicky _was_ alright. Nicky was here, he was alive, breathing and whole, under him, and he was… he was… “You’re like me.” Joe swallowed roughly. “Like us.” 

Nicky opened his eyes, and Joe was caught in his blazing stare. “Yes.” 

“This is what you wanted to tell me?” Joe asked. “On the phone?” 

Nicky’s lips quirked into a soft smirk. “No, actually I wanted to tell you that I was irrevocably in love with you. This is just an added bonus.” 

Joe froze, body stalling and mind coming to a halt. Nicky loved him. He _loved_ him. Joe felt his mouth moving but nothing came out, words stuck in his throat. How many sketchbooks had he lost to this man’s face? How many notepads and napkins were covered in scribbles on his beauty and his pure soul? How many times had Joe dreamed of this moment, pictured his declaration? Of the words he would spin, delicate but unwavering, like spider’s string. Of the vows he would make, forged like unbreakable steel.

In the end, nothing came. Nicky _loved_ him. And there were no words, not in any language he’d ever learned, that would ever be enough to compare. Nothing that could ever convey to this man how much he was worth in Joe’s eyes. 

Instead, Joe surged forward, crashing their lips together again. He was relentless, wishing Nicky to feel every unspoken word. When Joe pulled away for air, the words finally did come. Declarations of love, endearments, in every language that he knew. It wasn’t close to enough - it never would be - but it was a start. Joe would happily spend the rest of his life filling Nicky with the love he deserved. 

“Joe,” Nicky said, fresh tears spilling over his cheeks. 

“It’s alright, amore mio,” Joe soothed. “You aren’t alone anymore.” 

And then the dam finally broke, Nicky letting out a low sob before collapsing into Joe’s arms, Altas, finally letting Joe take the burden off his arms. Joe hushed him, wiping his own tears away, sucking in deep breaths. Clean air filled his lungs, and suddenly it felt as if he hadn’t been able to take a full breath until now. Breaths that were full of promise of a new beginning. 

“I am here now,” Joe promised huddling Nicky closer. “You aren’t going anywhere. I plan to hold you in my arms for days.” 

“Days?” came the shaky reply. 

Joe pulled back slightly, giving Nicky a questioning look. 

“I mean,” Nicky continued softly. “What’s the rush?” 

Joe felt his heart stutter in his chest. _What’s the rush?_ What was the rush? There was no rush. Nicky was like him. _Nicky was immortal._ How many times had he thought about this exact scenario? How many times had he dreamt of years slipping away with Nicky at his side? How many times did he yearn to share his gift with the man that had stolen his heart? 

Someone had listened. _Time had listened._ Time, who had been with Joe since the beginning, giving itself over to him in bounds. Time, who was cruel and relentless, pushing Joe forward regardless of how far he dug his feet into the ground. Time, who had taunted him for each moment he spent with Nicky, laughing at his unstoppable torment. 

Time, who, in spite of the centuries of fighting one another, had granted him a boon. _A gift,_ he imagined time saying. _You cannot escape me, but I’ve found another to walk alongside you._

Joy, unadulterated and freeing, bubbled in Joe’s chest. He grasped Nicky closer, wishing time would grant him another gift, and let this moment last forever. 

“You are right,” Joe smiled. “So clever, my love is.” He pressed a searing kiss to the underside of Nicky’s jaw. “Just days are far too short. I’ll need weeks, at least. Years,” he corrected, trailing more kisses up Nicky’s neck. “Centuries. _Eons.”_

“Promise me,” Nicky cried. “Promise me eons.” 

Joe licked into Nicky’s mouth, taking his time before parting again. “Yes,” Joe whispered, agreeing. “Eons.” Nicky shuddered in his grip. “The day I part from you, my heart, is the day that cows will fly.” 

Nicky laughed wetly, burrowing his face into his neck. It was a perfect fit, just as Joe suspected. As if the hollow under Joe’s jaw was carved out just for Nicky’s nose to rest in. 

“This has to be real,” Nicky replied, voice muffled against Joe’s throat. “If it isn’t, I will never forgive you.” 

Joe smiled, nose nuzzling into the soft hairs on Nicky’s head. “The feeling is mutual,” he answered. 

Joe didn’t know how long they sat there, wrapped in each other's arms, the weight of everything crashing around them. All he knew was that it wasn’t enough. Too soon, before Nicky started to stir. “We should go. Andy.” 

Joe didn’t move. Instead, his fingers tightened their grip around Nicky. “Andy can take care of herself,” he argued. _Andy doesn’t need you. I do._

“Booker told me,” Nicky replied. “She’s mortal, now.” 

“And she can take care of herself,” Joe repeated. “She certainly doesn’t need immortality to kick her normal amount of ass.”

Nicky huffed, his mouth curling into a smile, and Joe wanted to lean in and kiss it. So he did. “Joe.” Joe hummed. He quite liked how Nicky’s lips formed his name when against his. “We need to help.” 

Joe nodded, begrudgingly, finally stepping away. A cavern of cold air rushed in immediately, filling the spot of Nicky’s warmth. But Nicky was right. _As always._ Myers was still a lingering threat in the air, one that needed to be handled. He cast another look at Nicky. _Myers first,_ he thought. _Then I will take you far from here._ “Fine,” Joe said. “Stay behind me.” 

Nicky snorted. “After everything you’ve just learned?” 

“I’m not exactly looking for a repeat performance,” Joe frowned. 

Nicky reached out and grabbed his hand. “Hey,” he said, squeezing tightly. “I will not leave you, now that I’ve just only found you.” 

_I promise you eons, as well._

Joe smiled, warmth spreading through his chest. “Alright then,” Joe conceded. “After you.” _At least until we walk through the door,_ Joe thought. _Then, no promises._

Nicky nodded, standing up and reaching a hand down to help Joe as well. The pair slunk through the rest of the office area, following the trail of bodies left behind like breadcrumbs. They’d just spilled into another corridor when they ran into Nile and Booker. 

“Oh my God,” Nile gasped when she saw Nicky. “Are you—,” she broke off, taking in the full sight of Nicky. Saw the blood soaked onto his clothes and skin. Saw him breathing and healthy, despite it. 

Joe could see the moment she figured it out, her eyes going wide. He could see her mouth open, no doubt a million questions on the tip of her tongue - he had more than that himself. But it never came. “Right then,” she said with a nod. “You gonna help?” 

Joe wanted to laugh. He loved his sister. 

Nicky grinned ferally. “It would be my pleasure.” 

The four of them worked farther into the building, meeting little resistance. The halls were covered in a certain type of destruction that Andy could only achieve. While there was always a nagging worry in the back of his head - once there for Nicky’s apparent mortality, but now, there for Andy - Joe could hear a few lingering shouts of pain farther up ahead, signaling that Andy was still more than fine, and more than pissed. 

The hallway Nile led them down opened into a wide seating area, the floor already littered with bodies, Andy the sole one left standing. Still, Joe felt himself press close to Nicky. Immortal or not, Joe wasn’t planning to have Nicky test his abilities again anytime soon. 

“Took your time,” Andy gruffed. Joe bit back a grin. _Aren’t you in for a hell of a surprise._

“Where’s Myers?” Nile asked. 

“The cockroach is in his office,” Andy said, pointing to the barred doors. “How do we want to do this?”

“Well, we could—”

“You are absolutely not jumping in through the window,” Nicky cut him off. 

“How do you know about that?” 

Nicky crossed his arms, frowning in disapproval. “Booker told me.” 

“You, what?” Joe snapped, glaring at Booker. 

“Booker told me a lot of things,” Nicky said, jabbing a finger into Joe’s chest. “You and I are going to have a very long discussion on the definition of rash, and why you think that the term only applies to me.” 

“Well, it absolutely applies to you,” Booker snorted. “Or do you not remember the plane you crashed today?” 

_“You crashed a plane?”_ Joe shouted incredulously. 

Nicky sighed. “We really don’t have time—”

“Oh, now we don’t have time, he says,” Joe replied. “Sure, we can yell at Joe for São Paulo, but now we don’t have time to talk about the fact that you apparently kamikazed today!” 

“Ugh,” Nile groaned. _“Men.”_ She shoved past Joe and Nicky, stomping right up to the office door, and kicking it. The doors bowed in slightly, and Nile gave another kick, then one more, and then the doors burst open. 

There were two armed men that stood on the other side, but Andy shot them down before they could so much as aim. “This is why Nile is my favorite,” she commented, before following Nile into the office. 

Joe huffed, following Andy into the room, Nicky and Booker right on his tail. He scanned the room, but it was empty. “He’s not here,” Joe said. 

“Oh, he’s here, alright,” Andy said, pointing to the desk that sat in the middle of the room. Looking closer, Joe could see a shadow crouched behind it. Joe scoffed. 

“Come out, Myers,” Andy said. “Let’s talk.” 

Frightened eyes poked up from behind the desk. “Take whatever you want!” he shouted. “Just don’t hurt me.” 

“And here I thought you’d be happy to see us,” Andy continued. “Didn’t you want us all here?”

Myers sat further up, taking a closer look at all of them. “What?” he asked. 

“Don’t play dumb, Myers. Kozak told you all about us, right?” 

Myers’s eyes widened in realization. He sprang to his feet, walking around his desk. “You’re here. All of you.” 

Booker cocked his gun. “Bad news for you.” 

“Listen, let’s just talk about this,” Myers tried to placate. “Obviously we’re going about this the wrong way. If we all put our guns down, maybe we can come to some sort of agreement.” 

“Agreement?” Nile scoffed incredulously. “You must be joking.” 

“You’ll all be compensated,” Myers continued. “If you give us samples voluntarily, we can renegotiate—”

“Did Merrick grovel like this?” Nicky asked. He looked down at Myers with disgust, and Joe could almost taste the rage that swirled around him.

“No, but he certainly did bitch,” Andy answered. “Nile chucked him out of the penthouse window.” 

Joe saw Nicky smile at Nile, humming in approval. “I would have liked to have seen that.” 

“You,” Myers gasped, looking at Nicky. “We killed you. In Aberdeen.” 

Joe couldn’t stop the growl that echoed from his throat. “Bold of you to assume I’d stay dead,” Nicky replied coldly. 

“Another one,” Myers gasped, almost giddy at the thought. _Fat fucking chance,_ Joe thought viciously. This man would never touch Nicky again. “Listen, if we could just—”

“Enough talk,” Joe interrupted, raising his shotgun and shooting a round through Myers’s leg. The man howled, immediately buckling to the floor. He caught Nile raising her gun in the corner of his eye, but Joe put a hand up, stopping her. He stepped away from Nicky, brushing a hand over his arm in comfort as he did, before pausing again, grabbing the oddly shaped sword that Nicky had strapped to his back. 

It was lighter than his scimitar, but it was still balanced well. It would do just fine. He walked over to Myers, where the man was trying to crawl away from Joe’s approaching figure. “Please,” he begged, raising his hands as if that would get Joe to stop. 

Joe scoffed, coming to standstill as he leaned over Myers. “You would hurt my family,” he said calmly, staring down at Myers with a blank expression. “I will not give you the chance.” And with that, he raised his hand and swung the knife down, the blade cutting perfectly through Myers’s neck. Blood sprayed in a clean arc as the man fell to the floor. 

_Thud._ Joe couldn’t help but shiver at the sound, turning to make sure that Nicky was still there, standing behind him. He was, beautiful and bloodied as ever. He nodded at Joe, not even sparing a second glance for Myers, lying dead at his feet. Joe wiped the blood from Nicky’s blade, walking over to place it back in its sheath. 

“Well, that was something,” Nile said. “Now what?” 

“No point in waiting around. Let’s get out of here,” Andy said. “Copley will be waiting for us.” 

Andy turned to leave, the others following, but Joe didn’t move, casting a final glance towards Myers. Someone squeezed his shoulder. Nicky. 

“Joe. Let’s go.” 

Joe nodded, walking out next to Nicky. He opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off. A loud groaning echoed through the building, the ground trembling slightly, as if an earthquake was approaching. 

“Uh, what’s that?” Nile asked. 

Nicky smirked. “That’s Plan B,” he said cryptically. “Come, we can exit through the loading bay.” 

They jogged through the building, over broken glass and still bodies. Joe found himself hugging close to Nicky, eyes scanning frantically for any other potential threat. Booker took point, leading them down to the entrance he and Nicky entered through. 

The group burst into the loading bay, mere meters from freedom, from _safety,_ before the familiar pops of gunfire had them all scrambling for cover behind storage crates. 

“Really?” Nile groaned. Joe poked his head out to see three armed men, heading in from the back of the loading dock. “Where the hell were these guys earlier?”

“We can take them,” Andy sighed, reaching for her gun again. 

“Yeah, I’m not talking about them,” Nile said. “I’m talking about them.” She pointed out one of the bay doors, where cars with flashing lights pulsed, police spilling out of them, running towards the building. 

Joe bit back a curse. “Great. Just what we need.” 

“We’re not gonna shoot the cops, right?” Nile asked. 

“We can make a run for it,” Booker offered. 

“They’ll shoot at us.”

“Yeah, but we’ll get up.” 

“And then we’ll be trending on Twitter later today!” 

The floor grumbled threateningly under them again and Andy cursed. “We’ll find another way out. There’s no cover back here, and—”

“No need,” Nicky said. “There will be cover.” 

Joe followed Nicky’s gaze, and saw one of the sewer grates on the warehouse floor start to rattle before, unbelievably, the ground itself starting to bloat, as if someone was blowing up a balloon from underneath the concrete floor. 

Suddenly, the ground exploded, concrete and gravel shooting everywhere, a tall wave of water following right behind it. The wall of water was huge, bursting through the ceiling of the warehouse, raining down on the entire group. 

“What the fuck is this?!” Nile shouted, covering her head from falling debris. 

“That would be the water main,” Nicky answered, grabbing Joe’s hand. “Time to go,” he added, breaking out into a run and yanking Joe along with him. Joe stumbled after him, water pooling around their feet. It was frigid and the smell was less than pleasant, but Joe could only feel the warmth of Nicky’s hand around his. He couldn’t help but break into giggles, because in spite of all that was crashing around them, Nicky was still Nicky, and Nicky was a little shit. 

“You burst the pipes?” Joe shouted, over the roar of the water pumping out of the ground behind him. 

Nicky turned his head back to grin at Joe, wild and carefree, and Joe had never loved him more. “It’s always good to have an exit strategy.” 

“You are absolutely insane,” he said. _I am so in love with you,_ was what he meant. 

The five of them raced out of the building and through the parking lot. Joe cast another look behind him, but the police only had eyes for the towering waterfall, not even casting them a second glance. Joe laughed again, chasing after Nicky.

Once they reached the safety of the tree line, they stopped, catching their breath. “Well, that was dramatic,” Nile commented. Water was still pumping through the roof of the warehouse like a geyser, now starting to flood the street in front of them. 

“Definitely one of our more interesting escapes,” Andy said, smiling. It had been so long since Joe had seen it. “I’ll have to remember that one,” she added, clapping Nicky on the shoulder. 

“We’re not in the clear yet,” Booker said. “We should leave before someone sees us.” 

Joe found himself agreeing. The further he could get Nicky away from all of this, the better. They did, after all, have a hell of a conversation to have. He squeezed Nicky’s hand that was still intertwined with his. Nicky turned to look at him, smiling softly. 

“Let’s get out of here, then,” Andy said. “I’ll drive, and you,” she continued, pointing to Nicky, “will talk. For starters, where the hell did you get a khopesh?” She nodded towards the blade that Nicky had secured across his back. 

Nicky just smiled. “It’s a long story.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe it. We're here. We did it. WOOF. 
> 
> Just a tip from your friendly neighborhood engineer: hydraulics are a force to be reckoned with. We all like having nice showers, but please make sure to check your water pressure every once in a while! There are more than enough YouTube videos of bursting water mains to explain why. There's only so much water than can fit through pipes at a time. :) 
> 
> Did I assume that in one of the many books that Nicky has read, the study of hydraulics would be one of them? Yes. Did I want Nicky to have an absolute _extra_ exit like Nile did with Merrick. Yes. 
> 
> Fun facts:  
> \- VIOLA G. BOGAN is an anagram for il vagabondo, which is Italian for the vagabond. Vagabond (n): a person who wanders from place to place without a home or job.  
> \- Nicky started moving his weapon caches out of grave sites after his conversation with Joe about cemeteries, to make room for people who actually needed the space (because that's such a Nicky thing to do).  
> \- The khopesh, which is an Egyptian sword, was used way before Nicky was alive, but that's why he likes using it so much. He likes finding (and learning about) things that are actually older than him. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!  
> -JAT


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sighs* 
> 
> I really need to stop thinking that posting long chapters is an initiative to write even longer ones.  
> Happy 25K chapter day.  
> Thank you for sticking around for 100K+ of these dumbasses trying to figure shit out. 
> 
> *collapses in exhaustion*

“I knew you were cheating.” 

She huffed and crossed her arms, staring at the man sitting across from her. It was the first thing said between the two of them within the past half hour. There was so much to discuss, so many questions to be answered, piled tall on top of each other. Except nothing had been said, the endless mountain towering in front of them, no one wanting to take the first step. 

Andy knew that Nicky was more than blessed with patience - and _stubbornness,_ for that matter - and had been more than happy to sit in silence while they gathered their thoughts. It wasn’t like he was in any rush, anyway. 

It was very reminiscent of their first meeting, silently sizing the other up, like one was a puzzle waiting for the other to solve. Nile had mentioned to her, upon Andy asking about what she had thought about Nicky, was that she couldn’t stop thinking about his eyes. _Dragon’s eyes,_ she had said. Andy thought it fitting. So much weight carried in each blink; years could be spent discerning each of his passing glances. 

She had known there was something about him, back when they’d first met. Joe had mentioned him on multiple occasions, his comments seemingly getting less scathing after each meeting. Andy hadn’t put too much stock into it at the time; Joe managed to find a new nemesis every couple of decades. Although she hadn’t heard so much about one since Monet. 

But when Joe had actually recommended the man for a job, it had made her pause. Booker was usually the one that worked with their clients. It wasn’t as if she didn’t trust Joe’s judgement. It was just, well, they didn’t work with anyone else. Despite that, she’d agreed, as Joe’s insistence had made her all that more curious. 

Nicky hadn’t been what she'd expected. He had been professional, and damn good at what he did - but that wasn’t surprising. Joe wouldn’t have recommended an amateur. But there was something _off_ about him, distressing her so much that she'd almost called off the job altogether. She hadn’t, of course, because what was the point. They couldn’t die, and if Nicky had caused any issues, he could have been caught in the crossfire, so to speak. 

It seemed as if Nicky - or Nicolas Smith, as he had told them at the time - was even less trusting of them. He had seemed completely unimpressed with Booker, and had given Andy, _smartly,_ a wide berth. What had been most frustrating to Andy was that throughout the entire job, she hadn’t been able to get any closer at deciphering the enigma that was Nicolas Smith. She had seen and survived every type of man. She knew how they acted, she knew what drove them, she knew that they desired. In their line of work especially, she knew how dangerous they could be. Part of the reason why she stayed away from repeat clients. The clients they did take, were handpicked by Booker and approved by her. She observed them, reading them to the faces she’d already seen in her past, playing out their intentions from her own memories. 

But for Nicky, it had been like staring at a blank canvas. He had been so guarded. Every move he made, every word said, was calculated, and premeditated. 

She couldn’t figure him out. And it infuriated her. 

She remembered pulling Joe aside after the third time he’d recommended they’d work together. 

_“How can you trust him so much? There’s nothing behind his eyes, no feeling at all. He’s gonna cut and run one day and leave us exposed.”_

Joe had laughed at her. _“You look, but you do not see,”_ he had said. 

It had taken her a while to figure out what he’d meant. 

They always said that eyes were the windows to the souls, saying more than the person could ever convey. Not with Nicky. His eyes were a distraction. A decoy. Anyone could lose themselves in his gaze for months and never know anything more about him. They were his first line of defense, his walls built tall and thick, protecting him. They demand attention - _dragon’s eyes, dragon’s eyes -_ and you become so transfixed with them, you miss his weaknesses that are laid bare, his intentions painted all over him, unable to be hidden. The answers to the puzzle that is Nicky are written clear on him; just not in his eyes. 

_You look, but you do not see._

The curve of his smile spoke more than Joe’s lengthiest poems. A simple tick in his jaw could make even her feel ashamed. The way he touched, the grip of his hand screaming ‘ _I am here!’._ He had different types of walks for different moods, and a million hand gestures to boot. Nicky was an open book, just not in the way she’d initially thought. 

Today, Nicky stared at her the same way he had when they’d met. Blank and unassuming. But she knew she wouldn’t find her answers there. 

Andy tore her gaze away from Nicky’s own, glancing over the rest of him. He lounged in the chair opposite her, body loose and relaxed, as if he were sitting for a painting. _Joe is going to be absolutely unbearable,_ she thought to herself, barely avoiding rolling her eyes. His head was tilted, as it usually was when he was presented with a new conundrum. And he was still, as he always was. _No. He wasn’t._ Andy caught the slight movement of his fingers, tugging at the skin between the digits of his other hand. _Gotcha,_ she thought. He was nervous. With how careless he was with his movement, probably frightened. 

“Cheating?” she finally responded, opting not to point it out. Something told her Nicky wouldn’t talk to it too well. What on Earth did he have to be nervous about? Was he worried about what she would say? What they would think? It was endearing to see him this way, despite his apparent distress. He looked like a schoolboy waiting to be scolded by his headmaster. _Lost,_ in a way. Unsure of what move to make next. In all their years of friendship, Andy had never seen him like this. 

“At our game,” Nicky continued. The skin he pinched paled further against his already ashen skin before darkening as blood rushed to the surface, when he released it. “I knew there was no way your palette was that good.” 

Andy chuckled, and she caught the slight slump of Nicky’s shoulders in relief. There was still a heavy load of tension that remained, however, seemingly vibrating under his skin. “But it is,” she argued. “Immortality isn’t cheating. It’s just a perk.” 

Nicky hummed in displeasure, arms crossing as he glanced out the window. Andy bit her lip to stop herself from grinning. It was a gentle segue into what they’d been avoiding, and wasn’t that just such a Nicky thing to do? “An argument could be made that you were cheating as well,” she added. “No one just casually ends up in Laos and discovers ant egg soup. You knew about it beforehand.” 

Nicky hummed again, his nose tilting upwards. “Who’s to say?” 

“You are so full of shit,” Andy laughed. 

Nicky shot her a boyish grin, his eyes twinkling like gemstones. 

“What the hell are we gonna do with you?” She’d said it in jest, but it was clearly the wrong thing to say. The hard line returned to Nicky’s shoulders, and his fingers started to twist again. This time, a hand traveled to rest over his left thigh, jittering fingers tapping sporadically on this leg. The wound that had been there was long gone, but it was clear that Nicky wanted her to keep it in mind. 

They were in the outskirts of Berlin, at a house that had been in Booker’s possession for quite some time. It had been the closest option, and while any other time the others - _Joe -_ would have voiced their displeasure about heading anywhere Booker led them, no one had made any arguments, more distracted with a more pressing concern: a blood and brain soaked Nicky, sitting calmly in the middle seat of the car as if it were a normal Tuesday for him. 

The car ride had been interesting. Now that she thought about it, it might have been worth traveling to a farther destination, if only to have more time to discuss the newly unearthed discovery of Nicky’s immortality, and vice versa, for him. 

There were so many questions and thoughts racing through her head, as she’d stared at Nicky pressed against Joe in the back seat of the car, khopesh resting at his feet. They’d covered the basics, well, mainly Joe had for all of them, as she and Nile had been too shocked at the discovery of Nicky’s immortality, and Nicky had looked positively comatose. She’d seen the blood splattered all over Nicky’s clothes. And it wasn’t as if Joe would lie about something like this, but Andy was nothing if not a visual learner. 

The others knew what was going to happen, and she had barely gotten out of the car before Joe was blocking her path, shouting at her for unnecessary risks. Nicky, of course, had dissolved the argument completely by taking the gun from Andy’s hand and shooting himself, right through the leg. 

Joe had, unsurprisingly, taken to that even less well, and both she and Nicky were on the receiving end of another rant as they watched the wound on Nicky’s leg heal seamlessly. 

Andy had wanted to talk with him; she wanted to know everything. In all of her years, she’d never expected anything like this. Nicky had barely stepped out from his shower, looking like a completely new person, before Andy had dragged him off to a side room to get her answers, and hopefully get some for him as well.

“Well, go on,” she said, changing the subject to safer territory. “Ask.” 

“Ask what?” 

“How old I am. Everyone does.” 

Nicky hummed, giving her a once over. “No, I don’t think I will.” 

“You’re not interested?”

“Booker gave me a rough estimate,” Nicky answered. “I know you’re older than I am, so that’s enough for me.” 

Andy huffed, almost offended. 

“Besides,” Nicky continued. “I don’t expect a non-snarky answer from you.” He shot Andy a crooked grin. “One, because it’s you. And two, because I don’t actually think you know how old you are.” 

“Cheeky,” Andy replied, laughing as she kicked out a foot to knock against his. _Quynh would love you,_ she thought. 

“Are you going to ask me?” Nicky replied. “How old I am?” 

“I don’t think so.” 

“No?” 

Andy shrugged. “You’re clearly younger, so that’s enough for me.” She paused, before adding, “Your history is yours to share, and yours alone. No questions.” Nicky smiled, no doubt remembering when he had said that to her in London. It wasn’t as if she didn’t want to know. She did; they all did. But with what happened with Booker, she’d decided to go about Nicky more delicately. Their wounds, although not visible, lingered and festered. Especially having spent most of his life thinking he was alone; Andy knew how destructive it could make a person. 

“But you’re free to ask me anything. Anything you’d like.”

Nicky just shrugged. 

“Really? You’ve got nothing?” Andy deadpanned. “I spent years listening to Joe’s constant chattering, and Booker’s whines. Even Nile flocks to me like a rabid hummingbird, like I’m supposed to know all of the answers.” 

“I’ve been around the block a few times, Andy,” Nicky replied. “I’m not exactly new to this.” 

“But you’re new to _us,”_ she countered. Nicky’s cheeks flushed. “You know, I spent my first millennium alone. There was no one else. There may have been others before me,” she added, “but they were long gone before I was around. It was… a hard time, to put it mildly.” 

Nicky smiled in understanding. “It was.” 

“When the time came that I didn’t have to be alone anymore,” _when Quynh saved me,_ “it was like I was truly living, for the first time.” 

“I much look forward to that,” Nicky replied. As if on cue, the floorboards creaked in the hallway, and a shadow appeared from under the door. Andy rolled her eyes, like she’d done each time the shadow showed up every few minutes. 

“I’m fine, Joe,” Nicky called out. The shadow remained for a few moments before walking off again. _See you in a few,_ Andy wanted to call out. 

“I’m certainly looking forward to having to deal with your honeymoon period for the next few decades,” she said instead. 

Nicky’s cheeks reddened, and his piercing gaze broke away from hers, ripe with embarrassment. “He, uh, loves me.” It was said so quietly, as if the admission would be stolen from him if heard too loudly. It seemed that it was said more so for himself, than for Andy; Andy had already known said fact for years. She didn’t consider herself overly maternal but, in that instance, it was if she was staring at a lost child, and Andy wanted nothing more than to scoop him into her arms and tell him that everything was going to be alright.

“He does,” Andy replied soundly. “Very much so. We all do.” She paused. “You’ve been given a gift, with him,” she said, slowly, her throat already tightening. “I had that once. I had that with…” she trailed off. Centuries later, and her name still tasted like ash in her mouth. 

“Quynh,” Nicky answered for her. 

“Did Booker tell you?”

“No, not everything. He said it wasn’t his to tell,” Nicky replied softly. “He just said that she was gone.” 

“She is.” 

“Gone. But not dead.” 

“No.” _Death would have been kinder._

She waited for the platitudes that were likely coming; Nicky would be one to try and shoulder her burden. They all did, or at least tried in some way, with Quynh. “I held Joe's kidney in my hands,” Nicky said instead. It startled her. “I held his blood, Samples of skin and bone.” 

Nicky had transported the rest of the samples with Kozak. There was no way he could have known that they were Joe’s at the time, but it was clear that it haunted him. 

“I have been _‘gone’_ myself a few times,” Nicky said. “Capture is always dreaded by soldiers, but even they have the luxury of death. I viewed those times as the hardest of my life. For many reasons, but mostly because I was alone.” 

He pinched his nose with his fingers. “Now I think that I was lucky to have gone through those times thinking that I was alone,” Nicky continued. “If I picture myself there now, all I could see myself thinking about is him. Where he was, if he was safe. And if he were there instead of me?” Nicky shook his head, wiping at an errant tear that had slipped down his cheek. “I cannot think of a worser pain.” 

“There are none.” 

Nicky gave her a soft look. She saw his hand twitch, no doubt wanting to reach out and comfort her, but he didn’t. Andy was glad for it. 

“I’m sorry I do not dream of her,” Nicky said softly. “I’m sorry I cannot help you find her.” 

“It’s better that you don’t,” Andy argued. “Dreaming of constantly drowning is enough to make anyone crazy, like you’re in the coffin as well, dying with her.” She ignored the way Nicky paled at the mention of Quynh’s fate. “I think about Nile dreaming about it, hell even Booker probably still gets nightmares.” She shook her head. “Just more people that I can’t help.” 

Nicky didn’t answer, but his presence was comforting, as it always was. “Come on,” she groaned, changing the subject. “Ask me something. Let me pretend that I have something useful to teach you.” 

Nicky leaned back in his chair, pondering. “Do you know where Alexander the Great is buried?” 

Andy spluttered. That certainly wasn’t what she’d thought he would ask. “What?” 

“Do you know where his body is?”

“No? Why the hell would I know?”

Nicky shrugged. “What about the Mayans? Was it really a drought, or did aliens kill them?”

“Jesus Christ,” Andy moaned. “Forget I said anything.” 

“What about Romulus? Surely you know what happened to him.” 

“Nicky, just because I was living during these times, doesn’t mean I was there to witness every event! No, I don’t know what happened to him.”

“Roanoke?” he asked, grinning. 

Andy scoffed. “You know how I feel about the States.”

“Atlantis?” 

Andy rolled her eyes dramatically, not even dignifying that with a response. 

“Then I’m afraid, my friend, that you do not possess any knowledge that I am interested in.” 

Andy leaned forward, resting her head in her hands, shoulders shaking with laughter. She knew he’d only been asking for her benefit, to lighten the mood, but once again her heart swelled in joy at the thought of him being a part of their family. Despite being such a little shit. 

“Can I ask one more?” His tone was serious. 

She sighed, but nodded, urging him to continue. 

“What does it feel like?” 

“What?” 

“Mortality.” 

She huffed out a laugh. “It hurts,” she admitted. “It hurts, all the time. I had a hangover last week. I forgot those were even real.”

Nicky chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. 

“Do you remember your first death?” she asked. 

“Yes.” 

“Even after all this time,” she continued. “Even at my age, I still remember. I guess there’s just—”

“Some things you’ll never forget?” 

Andy nodded. “I remember waking up, that first time after death. I barely knew what was happening - hell, I still don’t have a clue - but I’ll never forget that feeling. Looking down at my hands, at my own body, and feeling like it wasn’t mine.” She stared at her hands now, looking the same as they had for centuries. _Not for long._

“After the first couple hundred years, death seemed impossible,” she continued. “After a few centuries, it just seemed laughable.” 

“But you figured it out?” 

“There was another. Lykon. He was like us. He died.” 

Nicky furrowed his brow in confusion. “But he was younger than you?”

“Yes.” 

“So then how did he die if our death is not measured by age?” Nicky pushed. “Is it cumulative? Do we only have a limited amount of lives?” 

“Nicky, stop,” Andy replied, holding up a hand to cut him off. “I don’t know. No one does.” Nicky frowned, clearly not satisfied with her answer. It was clear he was only asking for Joe, and her heart ached to give him some sort of comfort. “You can’t think about it like that. You’ll drive yourself crazy.” 

Nicky sighed. “It is strange that for people like us, who cannot seem to die, we certainly spend a lot of time thinking about death.” 

Andy laughed. “You’re right about that.” 

Nicky looked down at his hands, tracing a pattern only he knew. “If I would have learned about our deaths just a month earlier, I would have been relieved. Everything has to die, eventually.” 

“But not now?” 

Nicky turned his gaze towards the door again, looking for a familiar shadow to appear. “Other things need to be considered, now.” 

“Sap.” 

“This is a new beginning,” Nicky said, looking back at her. “For both of us. Every moment should be cherished, should it not?” 

Andy hummed in agreement, the pair descending into silence. Andy saw Nicky's knee bouncing slightly, casting another glance towards the door. She rolled her eyes. _Hopeless, the both of them._

“Go on, get out of here,” she said nodding to the door. “Joe’s probably having an aneurysm.” 

Nicky grinned, the schoolboy finally let out of detention, and practically skipped over to the door. Before he got there, Andy grabbed his wrist, stopping him in his tracks. 

“I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I _am_ happy,” she said, smiling softly. “You have no idea how much we dreamed of something like this.” 

“I think I do.” Nicky smiled at her in return, eyes brimming with unshed tears. 

“Although I all kind of bummed that I don’t get to grow old with you. I did think about it for a moment, back in London. We could have retired and opened a bed and breakfast.” 

“You would hate that,” Nicky laughed. 

“I didn’t say it would work in the long run,” Andy shrugged. “But I think it would be fun, if only for a moment. I’d give us six months before we went under. Or before I sued you for everything.” 

Nicky snorted. “You’re probably right.” 

“A crying shame,” she smiled. “Guess we’ll never know.” 

“Maybe keep that in your back pocket,” Nicky said with a grin. “I could still end up mortal tomorrow, for all we know.” 

“Not if Joe has anything to say about it,” she chuckled, getting up from her seat. “Something tells me he plans on keeping you around for a while. I’ve learned it’s best not to say no to him.” 

“He is nothing if not persistent.” 

“And he gets all weepy and looks at you like you kicked his puppy.” 

“That too.” 

“But you love him anyway.” It wasn’t a test, or at least, it wasn’t meant to be. She knew how Nicky felt about Joe. She’d known since they’d parted ways after the disastrous job in Stockholm. It was heartbreakingly obvious, despite how much Joe had been blind to it. Joe was like a little brother to her; they’d been together through both the best and worst times. Nicky was just as much family to her as well, and they both deserved to be happy. 

But she’d said this as a warning. They’d be at their strongest together, but also their weakest. Nicky didn’t know all of Quynh's story, but he knew enough to connect the dots. She wasn’t going to be around much longer, the most she could do now was prepare them enough to carry on while she was gone. 

“I do.” _I know the risks, but I’ll happily take them. For him._

Andy smiled. _A warrior,_ she thought.

* * *

* * *

Nicky felt lighter than he had in a long time when he stepped back into the den. It wasn’t as if he had any more answers than he had earlier, but he hadn’t been looking for them. Not now. Andy had an appreciative way of giving things to others straight, but lacked certain delicacies when it came to more difficult topics. Delving into the subject of everyone’s immortality needed to be more of a group discussion, but even Andy was exhausted enough to let it lie for right now. 

He had barely stepped out of the room before he heard Joe slip behind him. Warmth permeated between the two as Joe crowded as close to him as he could without touching him. It was if the man was caught in a loop of deciding between trying to give Nicky space or plaster himself at his side. It was unsettling to see Joe this way, unsure and hesitant. In all the years he’d known the man, Joe had always been bold with everything he did, and he was absolutely unapologetic about it. _Steadfast._ It was one of the endless reasons that Nicky had been drawn to him, Joe, a beacon of light leading him to safety ashore. 

Even without a physical touch, Nicky could feel the heat from Joe’s stare as his gaze darted around Nicky’s form, checking for any more wounds. “See?” Nicky said, raising his arms to give Joe a better view. “I told you I’d be fine.” 

“Tell me, Nicky,” came a new voice, Nile poking her head in from the next room over. “Did you get Papa’s blessing for Joe’s hand in marriage? Or will you be forced to run away and elope?” she asked, sporting a rather poor imitation of an English accent. “Oh, the scandal,” she cried, clutching at her chest. “Whatever will society think?” 

Joe shot her a dirty look, and Nicky bit his lip to stop him from laughing. “Don’t you have something you have to do?” Joe snapped, crossing his arms.

“Nothing has been more entertaining than watching you pace in front of this door for the last hour, like you were expecting Andy to come out with Nicky’s head on a platter,” Nile laughed. “I’m getting _major_ Pride & Prejudice vibes right now. It’s tragic, honestly.” 

This time Nicky did laugh, unable to stop his snort as he watched Joe’s face twist further, like he’d bitten into a lemon. 

“Well, he passes muster for now,” said Andy, stepping out of the room behind Nicky, giving him a hearty slap on his shoulder. “And good news is that he’s got quite the handsome salary, so you won’t be turned out on the streets once I die,” she added, grinning at Nile. Nile threw a fist in the air and whooped and darted away, before Joe could retaliate. Andy turned back towards Joe. “You have my blessing, my son.” 

Joe scoffed, pushing Andy towards the room Nile had disappeared into. “Get out of here,” he hissed. Nicky gave the women a jaunty little wave as she trailed after Nile, leaving him and Joe alone. He turned, giving Joe a smile and letting it grow as he caught the telltale signs of a blush dusting the other man’s cheeks. 

He rolled his eyes and said something under his breath, too soft for Nicky to hear, before looking back at him. 

“Are you with me?” Joe asked softly. Nicky felt gentle tugging on the edge of his shirt again. He’d caught Joe doing that multiple times since leaving Hamburg. He’d been hesitant to touch Nicky, as if he was afraid that if he did, his wounds would suddenly reappear, but he’d been unable to let him go far. It had been hard enough convincing Joe to let him go shower when they’d arrived, let alone leaving him in a room alone with Andy. His shirt seemed like a happy medium; keeping Nicky close while trying not to crowd him. 

_Are you with me?_ he had asked. Not, _are you alright?_ Joe knew he wasn’t, just as Nicky knew the same for Joe. But for Nicky, he didn’t need to be alright. He just needed to be with Joe. 

“Yes,” he answered, still smiling. _Always._

Joe hummed, obviously pleased, leading Nicky further into the den by tugging on his shirt. “You should relax. Nile said she was going to get some dinner going. Assuming she isn’t going to keep being a brat,” he grumbled. 

“Nile is cooking?” Nicky asked, ignoring Joe’s barb.

“She wanted to,” Joe said. “And I think you deserve a night off,” he smiled. “I should warn you, though. I’m pretty sure dinner is coming from a box.” 

“I am certain that I have eaten worse in my life,” Nicky chuckled. _And I am polite enough to hold my tongue._ “Besides, the creation of instant meals has come quite in handy when on jobs.” 

“Such a saint,” Joe chuckled, rolling his eyes. “But I’ve seen some of the faces you’ve made while being constrained to instant meals. I’ve spent days hearing you whine over the sheer insult of them to you. I also know that they are the reason you always carry fresh herbs with you when going on jobs.” 

“Even the simplest of meals can be saved with a sprig of rosemary,” Nicky countered, poking at Joe’s chest. “And I seem to recall, you _like_ when I bring my herbs.”

“You’ve turned me into a snob,” Joe countered. “I spent many years with Andy basically eating only bark and never complained once. Not even a decade with you and I can’t even enjoy simple noodles anymore!” 

Nicky rolled his eyes. “You should be grateful that I expanded your culinary experience. Where on Earth would you be, if not for me?” 

“Lost,” Joe replied instantly, his eyes going soft. “And most likely still eating some form of bark.” 

Nicky felt a wave of heat thrum through his chest. He raised a hand up to trace the curve of Joe’s smile against his cheek. While Joe had been careful with his space, Nicky had been the exact opposite. He’d pressed as close to Joe as he could in the car, caressing patches of exposed skin every now and again to feel the warmth beneath his fingers. To feel Joe, alive, next to him. 

Joe leaned into the touch before Nicky dropped his hand. “Sit with me,” Joe said, pulling him towards the couch. 

“One moment more,” Nicky replied. “There is something I must do first.” 

“That’s what you said when you went to go talk with Andy. This one thing can wait, can’t it?” he stared at Nicky with heavy eyes. “Humor me?” 

“I will be quick,” Nicky said in response. “This is the last thing, I promise.” Joe frowned slightly, and Nicky bit down the urge to wipe it from his face. “Humor me,” Nicky tried to smile. 

Joe relented, letting him slip from his grasp as he nodded slightly. Nicky grabbed his hand back to squeeze it gently, a silent affirmation that he would be back shortly. With a burst of courage, he leaned forward and pressed a feather-light kiss to Joe’s cheek, retreating before Joe could retaliate. Not that he would have minded - he would have very much _not_ minded if Joe did - but there were a few things to wrap up first. 

Nicky left Joe in the den and walked down the long hallway, following the sounds of a faintly clacking keyboard. The hallway was already covered in evidence of their stay. A few drops of blood had stained the carpet, a dark red trail leading into the bathroom. Nicky’s khopesh was leaning against the wall innocently. What had warmed his heart was not just the evidence left by the others recently, but how it just added to the remnants of their past stays throughout history. Like they were adding another coat of paint to a picture. How many centuries worth of books were stacked on the steps in the den? Were all these paintings, clearly hung by Joe, originals? When did they pick up that marble bust, now being used as a coat rack for Booker’s jacket?

Speaking of Booker, he hadn’t seen the man since they’d arrived in the flat, but Nicky knew he was lingering somewhere. The layout of the house was relatively small, but it wasn’t surprising that Booker could still find a place to hide out. Giving everyone a wide berth as the rest of the group came to terms with what had happened. Booker was always polite in that way. He never imposed, never prodded. In fact, he was quite the opposite, happy to press himself into the shadows to give everyone the space they may need. Of course, now it begged the question of whether the man actually preferred doing that, or if that was just what he was accustomed to. Sitting quietly in the background with no company but his own demons. 

Nicky sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with Booker at the moment; it seemed that no one did, not even Booker. But that question would have to wait. Booker wasn’t the one he sought. 

Nicky sidled up to the last door in the hallway, cracked open enough that he could see some light spilling out, and could hear a muffled conversation. He pushed the door open further, rasping his knuckles against the frame as he stepped into the room. 

James Copley sat hunched over a desk as he typed wildly on a laptop, his phone trapped between his ear and shoulder. He glanced up at Nicky briefly before returning his focus to the screen before him. Seconds passed before Nicky saw the typing stop, Copley looking back up at him, if only now realizing who was at the door. Clearly, he hadn’t expected it to be Nicky. 

“Have they said anything?” Copley asked, talking to whomever was on the other side of the phone, his eyes still on Nicky. He gestured to one of the chairs resting against the back wall of the room and Nicky nodded, dragging it closer to the desk before plopping delicately in. “Well, I haven’t worked with the CIA in a while, Saunders,” Copley continued. “Your guess is as good as mine.” 

Nicky leaned back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap. Copley was younger than he had expected. Not that it was easy to tell. His face had already started to crease, enough to throw many people off, but not Nicky. He’d been around long enough to know the difference of those lines brought on naturally, versus those prematurely. Given Booker’s brief description of the man, and his work history, it made sense that the burdens he’d shouldered would leave their marks, permanently. But he still looked young. Not in the bright-eyed and cocky sort of way - his gaze was dulled and weighed down by dark bags resting on his cheeks. No, he was young in the idealistic sort of way. And that made him that much more dangerous. 

“Thanks for filling me in, Gavin. I’ll call you later.” Copley ended the call, placing the phone on the desk in front of him. He leaned back and stared at Nicky, giving him a once over. _Go ahead and look,_ Nicky wanted to say. _You will not find what you are looking for._ Copley must have given the others the same look. The thought of him studying the others - _studying Joe -_ made his skin crawl. The look was curious and innocent enough, more content on the prospect of knowledge more than anything, but there was something else that hung in the back. That something, that had led to what had happened at Merrick’s in the first place. _Greed._

“Still working?” 

“Always. You know, since taking employment with your friends, I’ve had more than enough to keep me busy,” the man smiled. “I doubt I’ll ever have a boring day with them.” 

“You won’t,” Nicky replied, simply. 

The pair descended into an uncomfortable silence. It was quite unlike his previous meeting with Andy, however, as this time, Nicky wouldn’t be satisfied until he got the answers he needed. 

“I can come back, if you’re busy,” he said.

“No, no, please,” Copley said. “I have a few moments, if you’d like to discuss something.” 

Nicky snorted. “As if you don’t have anything to discuss with me?” 

“Oh, I do,” Copley laughed. “But it would take more than a few moments.” 

“I have nothing but time,” Nicky said with a shrug, leaning further back in his chair. 

“Well, uh, alright,” Copley answered slowly, once again taken back by Nicky. His eyes narrowed and he rested his head on his hand, pondering. “I know these are very unique circumstances, but it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’ve heard much about you over the past few weeks.” 

Joe had filled Nicky in briefly on the rest of the group's activities since they’d parted ways in London. Joe had been quick and succinct, clearly only for Nicky’s benefit, given the current state he was in, but he knew that the man wanted to say more. _We couldn’t find you,_ Joe had said. _I couldn’t find you,_ was what he meant. 

They’d made an agreement early on in their friendship, once it was clear to both of them that the roots they’d created were buried deep, never to be untangled, that they would make a point to keep one aware of where the other was. They’d claimed at the time that it was purely for scheduling - letting the other know when they’d be on a job, to know they’d be unavailable to engage in something else. 

It had morphed into so much more quickly, but neither man had ever commented on it. They started to send each other cheeky postcards, artsy photographs of whatever city they were in, texts of weird experiences they had with the locals. Then came the phone calls. Lengthy, animated discussions of anything and everything. They could go for hours and only when they were ready to hang up was when they would remember why they'd called in the first place. It was a lifeline for Nicky, in two ways. Each moment shared with Joe, either physically with him or just tethered through technology had been a blessing. More so, however, it was always a relief to know where he was, a way for Nicky to keep an eye on him even while he wasn’t next to him. He imagined it was the same for Joe. 

Of course, there were times that they couldn’t get a message to the other. Nicky could remember on a few occasions that he’d stared out of the window like a war-torn widow, waiting for a call he was dreading would never come. Merrick had been one of those times. Of course, luckily for Nicky, the job had been over before he had even thought to be worried about Joe’s absence. And while Nicky had told Joe that he was on another job, he didn’t tell him that it would take this long, nor that he would have to go radio silent - not that Nicky really knew that himself. 

If it had been the other way around, Nicky would have been out of his mind. Joe had been kind enough to table that discussion for another time - there were more pressing matters to deal with - but Joe was wonderfully stubborn, even at his most infuriating, and Nicky knew that that conversation was far from over. 

“I’ve heard some things about you as well,” he finally answered. 

“Oh?” Copley shifted in his chair. “I’m taking you weren’t impressed.” 

“Not particularly.” 

Copley laughed, nodding his head. “Yes, I suppose that is warranted.”

Nicky bit his tongue to hold back another scathing remark. The spot at his side that had been occupied by Joe was now cold, and Nicky could practically see the hole left by his presence. He grabbed the edge of his shirt, twisting it between his fingers. Looks like Joe wasn’t the only one that needed to be grounded. But as much as he wanted to leave, he didn’t. This couldn’t wait. “You knew about them,” Nicky said, changing the subject. “You studied them.” 

Copley grimaced slightly, as if he had expected the conversation to go this way. If this man was as clever as Nicky assumed him to be, Copley knew this had been coming. “Yes,” he answered, even if they both already knew it. 

“How?”

“A lot of reading,” Copley tried to smile. Nicky didn’t return the gesture. He was tired, and even his patience had its limits. Copley seemed to get the message by the way he sighed, relenting to the upcoming conversation. “My wife,” he started. “When she got sick, I left the CIA. I gave every waking moment I had to try and find a way to save her.” 

“You must really love her,” Nicky replied. _Love,_ not loved. His wife was gone, but it was clear that he still carried her with him. 

Copley smiled in agreement. “I do. Every day.”

If there was one thing that Nicky could concede in Copley’s favor, it was this. His actions were from a man in desperation, a man in love. Nicky could think of too many instances where decisions were made in the name of love. It was just as dangerous as making ones in the name of God. 

It had been easy for him to condemn those foolish and hopeless acts back when he was younger. But, given recent events, it was more than evident that he was no better than the rest of them. He’d do anything for Joe, given the chance, so who was he to judge? 

He looked back over at Copley. It certainly did complicate things. Just as complicated as dealing with Booker. The world was never as black and white as people wanted to believe. Nicky supposed that was part of the allure of it, no matter the frustration it caused. 

“I was clutching at straws,” Copley continued. “I hired the best doctors. I was so confident that she was going to get better.” He sighed, rubbing a hand over his tired face. “I did everything by the book, holding off on looking at fruitless temptations.” 

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve been on the internet,” the man said. “You could surf for ten minutes and be overloaded by miracle drugs, life-saving procedures in Central America, any of that crap.” he paused, tapping his fingers against the edge of his desk. “But with each month, she got sicker. And the best minds didn’t have any more answers for me. Suddenly, looking in other less legal directions seemed to be the only chance to save her, no matter how fanatical they seemed.” 

He got up, walking over to a side table that housed a jug of water, and a half-drained glass. Copley topped off his cup, holding the jug up in question for Nicky, but he waved him off. “I didn’t find anything, of course,” Copley sighed, dropping back into his chair, placing his glass on the desk. “Not in time to save her. But the torch had already been lit. She was gone, but the quest for the impossible cure? That itch was still there. And that was all I had left.” 

Nicky nodded. Copley had been driven for some tangible proof; he would have been desperate for it. Now that his wife had died, he’d need something to prove to him that all that time he’d spent had been worth it. _Bet he didn’t expect to find what he did,_ Nicky thought to himself. “So, miracle drugs to immortality?” he asked. 

“There were already plenty of rumors and myths about immortal beings out there,” said Copley. “It wasn’t that difficult of a topic to consider.” 

“Yes, but plenty of those rumors are on things like vampires and werewolves,” Nicky argued. 

“And you don’t think some of those things might actually be out there?” Copley asked. “I’d assume someone such as yourself would be more open minded to the idea of Big Foot.” 

“Whether or not the sasquatch are real is none of my concern,” Nicky frowned, crossing his arms. “If they are real, there’s a reason they haven’t been anything more than conjecture. They don’t want to be found. I can respect that. You clearly didn’t.” 

“Well, I guess you’re right there.” He rolled his chair to the side, so Nicky could see a few stacks of files behind him. “I brought these with me from England. I didn’t think it was safe to leave behind,” he explained. “It’s everything I put together on the others. You can read it, if you’d like.” 

“No,” Nicky snapped. 

“No?” 

“It isn’t for me to see. Anything they’d like to share about their life, they can tell me themselves.” 

Copley nodded, wringing his hands together nervously, not having expected Nicky’s venom. 

Nicky sighed in frustration. What sounded like an innocent endeavor to save his wife had put Nicky's only family at risk, even himself. He wondered how long it had taken for the man to lose the plot completely. It sounded as if Copley knew what he’d done was wrong; he’d been helping them since Merrick’s - Booker had also let him know that he’d helped Nile find the others in London - but Nicky wasn’t planning on letting him off so easily. 

“What happens now?” Nicky asked. “What needs to be done?” 

“By you? Nothing, if you can manage it,” Copley smiled. “I can handle things from here; this used to be my day job, you know. My wife, uh,” he chuckled slightly, “she always said that I was a glorified maid for the government. Taking the back entrances so no one saw me, cleaning up messes the public didn’t know was there in the first place.” 

“She sounds like she was a very wise woman.” 

“She was.” 

Silence fell between them again. Nicky could see that Copley was starting to get uncomfortable with his presence, but he refused to budge. “Tell me,” he said. “I need to know that they're safe.” 

Copley sighed, clearly frustrated, but relented, placing his elbows on the table and steepling his head in his hands. “Let’s start with Merrick, shall we? I told the others I would help them disappear and cover their tracks after what happened in London. Clearing cams and CCTV, keeping them out of the spotlight. MI5 came in, and I thought they’d take care of everything else.” 

Nicky nodded. “They were crawling all over the building when I was there. I heard them talking about the black market.” 

“Unsurprisingly, Stephen Merrick was not an upstanding citizen,” Copley replied. “He was already making millions with his contracts with the government, but apparently that wasn’t enough.” _Greedy,_ Nicky thought to himself again. How much of history had been written because someone was greedy? 

“They were going to bury it.” 

Copley nodded in agreement. “They couldn’t let it get out that their pharma guy was selling and testing drugs to criminals - the same drugs that he was distributing to the public.” Copley bent forward to grab his glass again, leaning his head back to take a swig of his drink. “They hadn’t decided which way they were going to swing it, but it would be far from the first time the government would have to change the narrative.” 

Nicky snorted. He’d seen more than enough evidence of that in his lifetime. 

“The only loose ends we had,” Copley continued, “were Kozak and the samples. Both of which have been taken care of, thanks to you.” 

Nicky grimaced, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I apologize if that complicated things,” he said. “Gröde was not my best work.” 

“I have a contact in MI5 that’s working on the Merrick case right now. He was the one who let me know that Kozak’s body was found; he’s still on site in Gröde right now, picking through the debris.” 

“And?” 

“Good news for us, the plane’s black box was destroyed.” Copley took another sip from his glass. “You did a better job than you think you did.” 

_Small mercies,_ he thought to himself. Nicky didn’t remember damaging the black box when he'd went into the cockpit to take care of the pilot, but he must have. It hadn’t been the first time he’d “assisted” in an airplane landing, so he must have just been working on instinct. In fact, he didn’t really remember most of what he had done when they’d crashed on that German island. All he could remember was thinking about Joe, who at that point had been unaware and hundreds of miles away. He looked back over at Copley. “I’m sensing a ‘but’.” 

The other man smiled. “But the bullet wounds found on the crash victims were a bit more puzzling.”

Nicky bit back a sigh. _Childish,_ he scolded himself. _Childish and sloppy._ It shouldn’t have mattered how distraught he had been over learning about Joe and the others. His carelessness had put them more at risk. “What are they thinking?” 

“Honestly? They haven’t a damn clue what to think,” Copley laughed. “The plane took off from a private hangar - which is great news for us. Not cameras, so they don’t know that two of the passengers that boarded are missing. The weapon used on the bodies was standard issue, and matched the weapons carried on the rest of the guards, so no leads there. It’s very evident that the plane was not brought down by a technical issue - MI5 knows this, they just don’t have anywhere to go from there.” 

Nicky bit the inside of his lip. “Do you know that for sure, or is that just what your contact told you?”

“I know you’re worried,” Copley replied. “This is quite the mess that we’re in. The government sniffing around isn’t helping anyone.” 

“The government cannot find out about us,” Nicky stressed. _About Joe._ “If they knew,” he paused, swallowing roughly. “We would never be free again.” 

“They won’t,” Copley replied firmly. “I’ll make sure they won’t.” Oddly enough, Nicky believed him. 

“And what of Cascade?” 

“I think what happened with Cascade works in our favor.” 

“How so?” 

“I’ve already cleared the security footage of the warehouse in Hamburg,” Copley replied. “I was in and out of their firewalls before anyone noticed. I believe they’re still dealing with the issue of a busted water main.” Copley raised an eyebrow and stared at him expectantly. Nicky didn’t reply. 

“What happened at Hamburg raises a lot of red flags, but the fact that it happened so closely after what happened with Merrick _and_ happened the same day as a Cascade company jet crashed with Merrick’s head scientist is just too coincidental.” 

“I fail to see how this helps us,” Nicky responded. 

“Don’t forget, Merrick and Cascade were competitors. The only reason Kozak agreed to work with them was because she knew they’d jump at the first chance to hire Merrick’s second in command and have a checkbook large enough to make it worth her while,” said Copley. “MI5 was already leaning towards a cover story for Merrick involving a competitor, and we basically handed them Cascade on a platter,” Copley smiled. “Picture this: Merrick and Cascade plot to take each other out of the game. Cascade strikes first and hires a hit squad to take care of Merrick. Kozak survives and plans a retaliation at Cascade’s Hamburg warehouse - before her untimely demise, of course - and somehow gets caught in the middle, and ends up dead on some German island.” 

Nicky frowned. The story wasn’t exactly farfetched, but it certainly wasn’t iron clad either. “They’d really believe that?”

“Does it matter?” Copley asked. “I’ve removed us from the equation; there is no physical evidence of any of us at either place. I’ve already wiped the others from Merrick’s surveillance. You were on cams talking with Kozak, but you had a guard’s helmet on. The only way we knew it was you was because Joe recognized your knife.” _The jambiya,_ Nicky thought. Was that why he’d sounded so strangely when he’d spoken to Nicky that morning? Had he known what he had been doing then?

“Cascade’s plane took off from a private hangar, so there’s no footage of you or Booker getting on the plane, or that there are two less corpses in Gröde right now. And you're all gone from Cascade’s systems in Hamburg. Whether or not the story is believable, it’s the only one that they’ve got.” 

“Wouldn’t the rest of Cascade’s company deny being involved?” 

“I’m sure that they want even less to do with this than we do,” Copley argued. “Their company plane that crashed was just discovered to have been harboring a criminal, and their head of research and development was just murdered, found with a bunch of dead mercenaries, no doubt hired by him. And that’s just the beginning. With this investigation, it won’t be long before the US government dregs something else up like tax fraud, or unsanctioned workplaces. Who knows, maybe Cascade was dabbling in the black market as well?” Copley shrugged his shoulders. “Cascade is done for, no questions asked.” 

“If you’re sure,” Nicky replied, still unsure about the whole thing. 

“You’d be surprised by how many times the government didn’t have all the answers, and the amount of times that they just didn’t care that they didn’t,” Copley laughed. “With the Americans involved now, I’m sure this will get wrapped up pretty quick. The US and the UK are strong allies; they aren’t going to risk jeopardizing that over some private pharma companies. They’ll just do what they do best and put it to rest.” 

Nicky frowned, but didn’t push it. This was Copley’s world; he’d have to trust him that this would play out the way he predicted. At least he had the initial relief of knowing that there wasn’t any remaining tangible evidence of him and the others. The rest would have to heal slowly, with time. Good news for them, they had nothing but time. 

“Good things do just happen,” Copley continued. 

“Not in my experience.” 

“You sure about that?” Copley asked, his eyes drifting towards the door. 

Nicky frowned, narrowing his eyes. His relationship with Joe and the others wasn’t for him to comment on. 

“You knew about the others. Why didn’t you know about me?” 

“That’s the interesting thing,” Copley said, his tone turning excitable at the change in conversation. “The reason I was able to find the others was because they were a group. There are tons of conspiracy theories online about immortals. People’s family members showing up in photos decades before they were born, time traveling celebrities, that sort of thing. Once I’d finally sold myself on the idea of immortality, I’d initially thought there would be more of you, based on all the claims,” he shrugged. “But they were all dead ends. A doppelganger showing up in a single photo doesn’t really amount to anything. I may have actually found you at one point but thought it nothing more than photoshop or a coincidence. It’s a lot easier to hide on your own.” 

Nicky nodded in agreement. As the world evolved and advanced, there was less and less room for error. People’s memories faded, but photos were forever. Having been captured far too much for his liking over the course of his life, Nicky had been overly consistent at remaining a mere shadow as he walked through the decades. “The others were not so lucky,” he said. 

“There were too many instances of them all in the same place throughout history to be a coincidence,” he explained, gesturing to the stack of files to his left. “Using them as a focal point, it was easy to cross reference throughout history to trace their roots.”

Nicky bit the inside of his lip, rubbing his hands together. It was a comfort of sorts to know that they’d had each other, even when he was alone. He didn’t like the idea of the rest of them forever wandering through time, alone, like he had been. But their comradery had made them a target. It will continue to make them one, even more so now that he was with them. Hiding would not come easy anymore, but it wasn’t a concern for him. They were worth every risk; Nicky would happily spend the rest of his life acting as cover for the rest of them, keeping them from wandering eyes. He only hoped that Copley would keep his promise and do the same. 

“It does beg the question, though,” Copley continued, leaning back in his chair. “If there are others, like you. Others that we don’t know about.” 

“I hope not,” Nicky prayed. “We aren’t meant to be alone.” 

“Big Foot’s a social creature?” 

Nicky snorted, his lips curling into a smile. “Something like that, yes.” 

Nicky wanted to leave. He thought of Joe, waiting for him on the couch in just the other room. He could leave; there was nothing stopping him, and he’d gotten enough satisfactory answers from Copley regarding their next moves. But there was one more thing to discuss. 

“What you’ve done,” Nicky said slowly. “I believe it may be unforgivable.” 

He saw Copley swallow thickly. “I understand,” he replied. “While I didn’t know how far Merrick was willing to go, I was, if anything, complacent to it.” 

“I was not talking about what you did to them.” 

“Oh?” 

“Your partnership with Merrick was wrong, that much is true,” Nicky continued, clenching his jaw. “You were foolish, and blind.” He paused, looking away from Copley, his gaze turning distant. “I have been around for a long time. I’ve made plenty of bad choices, believing that they were good at the time. That I was doing them for the right reasons. I believe life is measured not only in your successes, but your failures. And how you learn from them.” 

“That’s very wise of you.” 

“It would be fairly hypocritical of me to not believe in second chances,” Nicky said with a shrug. “I believe you see the error of your ways; you are already trying to make amends in helping us disappear.” 

“I am,” Copley confirmed, nodding. “And I will continue to do so.” He paused then, giving Nicky a curious look. “If you weren’t talking about Merrick, then what were you talking about?” 

“I’m talking about Booker.” 

“Booker?” Copley blinked, his eyes widening in surprise. 

“You knew about all of them. And yet you chose Booker.” 

“I’m not sure what you mean.” 

“Yes, you do,” Nicky answered shortly. “You chose him. Why?”

“Well, I’d worked with them in the past,” Copley explained, shifting in his seat. “Booker was the point man for the group when I’d hired them last time, so I reached out to him first.” 

“Don’t lie. That wasn’t the reason.” 

Copley sighed, defeated, slumping back in his chair. “No. It wasn’t.” 

“You knew each of their histories,” Nicky continued, nodding to the others’ files. “You had a map of each of their lives. You knew their weaknesses. And that’s why you chose Booker.” He didn’t wait for Copley to reply. “You knew he had a family; you knew of his grief. You thought him weak,” Nicky hissed. “You saw the open wound from his grief, and you burrowed in like a parasite.” 

“I was just—”

“What, trying to do the right thing? You were a _snake._ ” 

Copley sighed, holding his hands up in surrender. “I just… I understand his pain.” 

“You understand nothing,” Nicky snarled. “You think your pain is comparable?” 

“My wife was everything,” Copley whispered, his face twisting in a grimace. “All I feel is pain.” 

“And one day you will die, and then you will feel nothing,” Nicky answered, his face carefully blank. “You think what we have is a gift. You are so transfixed with the rose that you do not see that it is covered in thorns.

“Booker buried his wife and his sons centuries ago. He’s already grieved them ten times over than what you have. Andy is older than entire species; she’s seen civilizations rise and fall, civilizations that history didn’t even bother to record. I can’t even imagine the amount of discrimination Joe has had to live through because of the color of his skin, and how many more years he will have to endure it. Nile will never be able to go home anymore, because we don’t have a home. I haven’t had a home in over nine hundred years. I couldn’t even point in the general direction of where my house was; I don’t even remember my brother’s face,” his voice was shaking, and Nicky could feel fire building in his lungs. “Even as we forget, the agony lingers, like phantom pains. So, no, Mr. Copley, you don’t understand. You understand nothing.” 

Copley looked at him with wide eyes, shocked into silence. 

“How many times did you have to ask him?” Nicky asked. “How many times did he say no?” 

“Many times.”

Pride flickered in Nicky’s chest. Booker might see himself as completely broken, but Nicky knew that there had been some fight left in him, a flickering candle trying to stay alive in the wind. 

“For as much as you envy us, we envy you,” Nicky continued, smiling sadly. “Your death is already written. Ours, remains to be seen. You knew that, and you dangled it like a carrot in front of Booker.” 

Copley sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I did,” he croaked. 

“You do not have centuries. You only have decades, if you’re lucky,” said Nicky. “You have much to do.” 

“And I will,” Copley replied, nodding his head. “I know what I’ve done.” He paused, rubbing a hand over his face. “I know what my wife would think of what I’ve done,” he added, more quietly. 

“I just wanted you to know. You work for forgiveness, but not for the reasons you thought,” Nicky replied. “You shattered them.” 

Copley nodded again, looking down at his hands. “You’re right. I don’t have centuries. But I’ll make sure to make my last years count.” 

“Good.” 

Copley sucked in a deep breath, leaning back in his chair. “Well, that was, uh, something,” he said. “You know, you’re not what I was expecting.” 

“I’m not usually this expressive. I hide it well.” 

“You hide well in general,” Copley laughed awkwardly. “You certainly gave me the run around; more than once, I might add.” 

Nicky hummed, rubbing a hand against his chin. “I think that’s something to keep in mind.”

“What, that you’re good at hiding?” 

“Yes. And that you weren’t able to find me.” He stood then, glowering over Copley’s form. “They won’t be able to find you either, if you make another mistake.” 

Copley paled, his jaw clenching. “I understand.” 

Nicky gave him a sickly-sweet smile. “I look forward to working with you, Mr. Copley.” 

“I’m sure you do.” 

“I know men like you. I _was_ a man like you once,” Nicky said, walking towards the door. “You are at a crossroads, right now. Whichever way you choose, I implore you to choose wisely. I will be watching.” 

Without waiting for a response, Nicky slipped back out the door and down the hallway. As promised, Joe was sitting on the low-rise sofa, knee bouncing as he stared at the ceiling. Upon hearing Nicky enter the room he looked up, breaking into a grin as Nicky flopped down onto the couch next to him. Warmth spread back through Nicky’s veins as he pressed close against Joe’s side. Joe’s fingers returned to the edge of Nicky’s jacket. 

“All done?” Joe asked, throwing his other arm around Nicky’s shoulder. 

“For now,” he replied, casting another glance down the hallway, where Copley had yet to emerge. Nicky wasn’t sure if he would make an appearance at all tonight. 

“Then for now, you are mine,” Joe said. _No, not for now. Forever,_ Nicky wanted to argue. But then Joe was threading his fingers through his hair and scratching at his head, and suddenly Nicky didn’t quite remember how to form words after that. His eyes had barely fluttered shut when his nose was assaulted. 

“Something is burning,” Nicky said, smelling the air. “I should—”

“You should let Nile handle it,” Joe interrupted, tightening his hold on him before he could get off the couch. “Besides, a slight crispness won’t hurt. It will give dinner more flavor.” 

“Yes, a burnt flavor.” 

Joe chuckled, and Nicky could feel the reverberations against his chest. He quite liked it. He wanted to make Joe do it again. “Relax. Andy’s with her.” 

“That thought will do everything except get me to relax.” He knew the sort of damage Andy could leave in the kitchen. She took to cooking the same way she took to fighting. The aftermath was always remarkable. 

There it was again, that chuckle. Nicky preened, his toes curling in delight. “You’re not wrong,” Joe said. “But we will not be leaving this couch until, and only until, dinner is ready, or the house burns down.” 

“Works for me,” Nicky said, burrowing closer to his beloved. “I’m starting to wonder why I put this off in the first place.” 

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Joe replied, pressing his lips against Nicky’s forehead. Nicky could feel the tug of his smile. “Although,” Joe continued, whispering into his ear, "if I was a betting man, I’d gander you just walked into Copley’s room and made a whole fuss, like the mother hen you are.” 

Nicky huffed, digging a knuckle into Joe’s side, smiling as the other man squirmed under the touch. _A discovery to remember for later,_ he thought mischievously. “You wish,” he said, shoving at Joe again. “I just asked him if he could forge me a winning lottery ticket. You see I took this job recently that was quite a thorn in my side, and I didn’t see a single cent.” 

“You don’t say,” Joe drawled, trapping both of Nicky’s hands in his own to keep them from wandering for more ticklish spots. “You didn’t get anything?” He knocked his nose against Nicky’s gently. “Not any kind of reward?” 

Nicky tilted his head and pretended to consider. “No, none that I can think of.” He tilted his face further downward, brushing it against Joe’s soft beard, still damp from his shower. “I’m a simple man, but even I need funds to keep my herb satchel stocked.” 

_“Herb satchel,”_ Joe crooned, descending into giggles, Nicky following right behind him. His gaze danced across Joe’s face, trying to commit everything to memory. The way his eyes crinkled, the beaming of his smile. The way he dragged his tongue across his lower lip. 

They’d been so soft, when Nicky felt them move against his own in Hamburg. They had been perfectly in sync, like with everything they do. He wanted to feel them again, wanted to chase that feeling of euphoria. Nicky leaned forward, his eyes closing.

Sharp banging echoed from the kitchen, the two men jumping apart from the noise. Nicky could hear evidence of a quarrel breaking out in the other room. “Joe, I should—”

“Nile will handle it.” Joe tugged Nicky back down to his chest. “Let the kid do something for her elders, for once. Her cooking can’t be that much worse than Andy’s. And if it is? Well, then we will suffer tonight, and her culinary training will start tomorrow.” 

Nicky hummed in agreement, being pulled back in by Joe’s warmth. 

“I promise you, you have plenty of time to teach her all about your herb satchel and the power of a sprig of rosemary, amore mio.” 

Nicky smiled, leaning back into Joe’s embrace. “I suppose you are right.” 

* * *

* * *

“It is a lovely night, is it not?” 

Booker cursed, and Nicky bit his lip to stop from smiling as the other man fumbled with the backpack in his hand. He jammed another book into the bag before zipping it up, throwing it over his shoulder. 

He’d awoken to Booker sneaking through the house like a phantom. Unsurprisingly, neither he nor Copley showed up to dinner that night. It was, as Joe predicted, positively dreadful, but Nile had smiled nervously when she’d presented it to the table, and then Nicky had given a rat’s ass on how it tasted. 

Dinner had been quiet and subdued. It had reminded Nicky of the dinner they’d shared at his flat in London just the previous month. In fact, much of their stay here in Berlin was similar to what had happened in London, despite all that had changed between them all. It seemed this time, however, Booker was keen enough to see himself to the "airport” this time around. 

“You’re leaving,” Nicky said. 

“Got it in one,” Booker grumbled. He still didn’t turn to face Nicky, instead walking further away, towards the front door. 

“Like a thief in the night.” 

Booker snorted. “I am nothing but true to my roots.” He opened the door and stepped outside. Nicky followed him down the stairs, grabbing his shoulder before he went any further. He tugged Booker to face him, the man not putting up any resistance. 

“Booker,” Nicky scolded. 

“What, you didn’t really expect me to stick around, did you?” 

Nicky just shrugged. “You had plenty of time to leave this afternoon, if you were so keen to go. Why now?” 

“Think of it as a parting gift,” Booker answered. “I don’t have to listen to them tell me I’m not wanted here, and by leaving now, they aren’t forced to tell me. It’s a win-win for everyone.” 

Nicky crossed his arms. “So you say.” 

Booker scoffed, looking towards the sky in exasperation. “What the hell do you want from me, Nicky?” 

“I had a question for you,” he said. “In London, they said that they had to take you to the airport. What really happened?” 

Booker sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck. “They decided what to do with me. What they would do to me, because of what I’d done.” 

Nicky frowned. “What did they decide on?” 

“Exiled from the rest of the group,” Booker said, chuckling slightly. “One hundred years of solitary.” 

_Ah._ “I see.” Nicky was conflicted. It was obvious that the rest of them would've had to do something about Booker, given what had happened at Merrick’s. Booker had skirted over the conversation earlier, and while at the time it didn’t seem important to Nicky, he now hadn’t been able to get the thought out of his head. Mainly what the others would do upon discovering certain secrets. Certain secrets, like the ones that Nicky still carried close to his chest. 

Booker laughed. “What, are you going to tell me that I got off easy? That one hundred years is just a walk in the park?” 

“No, I wasn't,” Nicky replied, crossing his arms. 

“Actually, you’re the expert here. You got any tips for making it on your own?” 

“I suggest finding a hobby.”

“Already on it,” Booker smiled, opening his flash before taking a deep swig. 

“A hobby, not a vice,” Nicky hissed, snatching the flask out of Booker’s hand and dumping the contents onto the ground. Booker didn’t try to stop him. “You know,” Nicky continued, shaking the rest of the liquid from the bottle, “the more I think about it, the more I think you do not actually enjoy drinking. I think you do, just to have something to do.” 

“Is that not what a hobby is?” 

Nicky shot him a dirty look. Booker looked as disheveled as he always did, but Nicky couldn’t help but think of how he looked when Nicky had found him in Leeds. If the group had left him after London, then he’d seen Booker in the midst of his exile. He didn’t want to picture Booker that way for the next one hundred years. “I’m not going to tell you it’s going to be easy. It won’t be.” 

“I could have told you that already.” 

“Time is fluid for us. There will be days that will pass in the blink of an eye, and hours that will pass like a leaf changing color in autumn.”

Booker scoffed. “It does not matter how quickly it passes, because I have an endless supply of it.” 

“You know that’s not true.” He thought of Andy, sleeping just inside. 

“Yeah, well, with my luck, I won’t be running out anytime soon.” He adjusted the grip on his backpack, shifting between his feet. “Is that all you wanted to tell me? That I should take up knitting?” 

Nicky sighed, biting back a sharp retort. It was clear that Booker wanted to argue, hoping that Nicky would just storm off to let Booker slip away with no further conversation. Unfortunately for Booker, Nicky wasn’t planning on giving him the satisfaction. 

“I know it may not seem like it, but the time they’ve given you can be considered a gift.” 

“Oh, really?” Booker laughed. “Why, because I don’t have to share a bathroom anymore?” 

“You said it yourself. Time is meaningless to us, because it is never ending. The time they’ve given you, however, is definite. It will most certainly end.”

“And?” 

“I’ve spent almost my entire life alone,” Nicky sighed. “I’ve been where you’ve been; I’ve been engulfed by darkness and been left stranded by grief. Many times. I’ve found that the only way to survive - to be _alright_ with surviving - is to keep going, one foot in front of the other. To find purpose.” 

“I don’t have a purpose,” Booker replied. “We take these jobs, try to do the right thing. Andy said we’re barely helping anymore; I’m starting to think she’s right.” 

“Are you sure?” Nicky asked. 

“I’m not really in the mood for your fuckin’ riddles right now, Nicky,” Booker sighed, placing his hands on his hips. 

“You’ve been gifted one hundred years. You seek reconciliation, and their forgiveness. And they’re giving you that chance, even though you might not see it,” said Nicky. “That sounds like purpose to me. At least for the next one hundred years. Once we get there, well, we’ll think of something else. Together.” 

Booker clenched his jaw, looking away from Nicky. He could tell that he wanted to argue more, but he kept his mouth shut. It was always hard to read Booker; he could only hope that the man believed him. “Even though really, one hundred years seems like a bit of a stretch,” Nicky added, flashing Booker a grin. “They didn’t last a month without you.” 

“They were just fine,” Booker snapped. “The only reason this happened was because you couldn’t leave well enough alone.” 

“Well, then you can expect me to continue to not leave well enough alone, then,” Nicky answered sweetly. “I expect to be seeing you again sooner than you think.” 

“Don’t, Nicky,” Booker said, shaking his. “Don’t give me that hope. They’ll never forgive me.” 

“They’ve basically spelled out to you that they will,” Nicky argued. “You hurt them, deeply, yes. But their anger and pain have an expiration date, just as your exile does. They will not need one hundred years to forgive you. If anything, these years are more for yourself. To forgive yourself.” 

“And how many years will that take?” Booker asked. “You said you’ve stood where I have. How long did it take you to forgive yourself?” 

“I’ll let you know when I do,” Nicky smiled sadly. “I’ve walked this Earth for nearly a thousand years and sometimes it feels like I’m no closer to it than I was on day one.” 

Booker nodded, smiling sadly. “Sounds about right,” he said. 

Without a second thought, Nicky rushed forward, pulling Booker into a hug. The man startled and stiffened under his touch, but then collapsed like a dam breaking, folding his large limbs over Nicky in a tight embrace. _“Thank you,”_ he whispered into Booker’s ear. “You were not the only one who was lost. You helped me find my way. I can only hope that you find your own path, now.” 

Booker shook softly under his touch, sniffling as he held back his emotions. Nicky just held him tighter. “I wish you every happiness, _mon frère_.” 

And with that, Booker pulled away, walking down the steps without looking back, disappearing into the darkness of night.

* * *

* * *

He heard the faint steps first, followed by the familiar warmth that his body was starting to grow quite addicted to. 

“Can’t sleep?” Nicky bit back a laugh. The words were so slurred that if Nicky didn’t know the man any better, he would have thought Joe wasn’t awake. He could fall asleep anywhere. _Anywhere,_ he chuckled to himself, remembering the time Joe had taken a nap in a packed dumpster on a job, while they'd waited for the cover of night to make their escape. 

Getting to watch Joe sleep was one of the first things he’d gifted Nicky with over the course of their friendship. Joe was a heavy sleeper, but even if he wasn’t, sleeping in front of a stranger - one that was considered to be an enemy at one point - and trusting Nicky when he was at his most vulnerable, had been a risk. It had been an olive branch between them - Joe was always the first one to try for peace - after a job had taken much longer than anticipated. Nicky had been shocked to find Joe passed out beside him. He knew he should have woken the man at some point, switching over watch to him, but Nicky hadn’t. If Joe had trusted Nicky enough to sleep, then Nicky would ensure that he got his rest, and more. When they’d finally parted ways, they’d shaken hands, nodding to each other. It was the first time that Nicky could remember smiling at Joe. The beginning of their friendship, really. The next time they’d crossed paths, they were in Venezuela, Joe had his birth name on his tongue, and the rest was history, as they say. 

Nicky had had the pleasure of watching Joe sleep plenty of times since then. On each occasion, he'd wished for Joe’s talent with a pencil, dreaming of being able to capture even just a sliver of the man’s beauty. He looked so young when he slept. Wrinkles from exhaustion and furrowed brows from stress were smoothed out. Thick eyelashes fluttered and limbs twitched, as Joe couldn’t sit still even in slumber, much to Nicky’s amusement. The man was so full of life, bursting at the seams with energy and love. It was only fitting that even sleep would not be able to deter him. 

He’d left Joe completely dead to the world on one of the beds housed in the Berlin flat. No one had questioned him and Joe slipping off together once the group had parted ways for sleep; he and Joe had shared beds before, plenty of times. They’d shared that dumpster, too. Nicky could recall each time perfectly, as they’d been the worst nights of rest he’d had in recent decades. Mainly because he spent each night soaking in Joe’s heat next to him, listening to his even breaths, memorizing his scent, all while trying not to break the invisible barrier set between them, and bundle himself into Joe’s arms. 

This time had been different, as Nicky had barely hit the mattress before Joe was crawling in behind him, wrapping an arm over his chest like a safety net. Nicky had blinked back a few tears before grabbing Joe’s arm like a life preserver, lest he try and let him go. No words had been spoken, both men completely exhausted, and Nicky felt slumber call to him quickly. There was nowhere he’d rather be, besides safe and warm in Joe’s arms. The last thought he had before drifting off, was the hope that he could have this again tomorrow night. And the night after that. 

He probably would have slept straight through to morning, but unlike Joe, a falling pin could rouse him, no matter how exhausted he was. Booker trying, and failing, to sneak through the flat had been more than enough to wake him up. He knew immediately what Booker was doing, and despite both his body and mind screaming at him to remain there with Joe, Nicky knew that he would regret it if he did nothing. 

Booker had long gone, now, but Nicky hadn’t been able to return to bed. Return to Joe. It was hard to turn his brain off, once it got started. “I’m sorry if I woke you,” Nicky said, still staring out the window, at the pale moon that hung in the sky. 

Joe stepped behind him and wrapped his arms around Nicky’s waist, mimicking how they’d fallen asleep. He pressed his face between Nicky’s shoulders, worrying his head gently. Nicky felt Joe’s curls brush against his neck, and he shivered. “It’s alright,” Joe said, still sleepily. “Come back to bed.” 

“Booker left.”

Joe hummed, pressing a kiss on Nicky’s back. “I know, I heard him.” One of Joe’s hand’s trailed to his hair, raking through unruly locks before settling at the base of his skull, massaging gently. Nicky had caught him doing it a few times over the course of the evening, right over where Nicky had been shot, as if Joe needed the constant reminder that he was still here. Nicky leaned further into his touch, indulging him. 

“You let him leave?” 

“Was I supposed to stop him?” Joe asked. “He wasn’t meant to be here anyway.” The comment wasn’t said in a cruel manner, but just a tired one. As if Joe had lost all strength to deal with Booker. Given what had happened, Nicky knew not to expect more. He couldn’t imagine the weight felt by the others. 

“I suppose you are right,” Nicky said softly. “But I had to thank him. I wouldn’t have made it to Hamburg without him.” 

Joe scoffed, and Nicky felt the heat of Joe’s breath against his skin. “You wouldn’t have been in Germany at _all_ without him. What happened in Aberdeen wouldn’t have happened without him.” 

“You don’t know that,” Nicky argued. “They would have likely tried to kill me anyway.” At the admission, Joe’s arm, the one still wrapped around his waist, tightened. “I said tried,” Nicky soothed, clasping his hand over Joe’s own. 

“Would you have agreed?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“If you knew what you know now,” Joe continued. “Would you have agreed with us? Exiled him for one hundred years?” 

“I don’t think I could make that decision,” Nicky replied. “I don’t know him like you do.” 

“He was as much a brother to you, as he was to me,” Joe argued. 

“Was?”

“Don’t,” Joe answered softly, and Nicky’s heart broke at the sound of it. 

“I think it was the only decision that could have been made,” he said, not pushing any further. “I tried to explain to Booker that some peace could be found in his time alone.” 

“I’m sure he loved getting another lecture from you.” 

Nicky smiled. “Sometimes, in order for a forest to flourish, it needs to burn.” 

“I always knew you had an old soul,” Joe said. “Especially always toting such wisdom.” 

“I do have multiple degrees,” Nicky smiled. 

“In what, filibustering?” 

“How dare you,” he laughed, twisting his body in Joe’s hold to face the other man, smacking at his shoulder. “Is that anyway to address a doctor?” 

“A doctor, huh?” Joe grinned, pulling Nicky flush against his chest. 

“A few times over.” 

“You’ll be happy to know that I find educated individuals most tantalizing.” 

“Lucky for me,” Nicky answered giddily, knocking his forehead against Joe’s. 

Joe’s eyes fluttered shut and he took in a deep breath. Nicky found himself mirroring his actions, filling his lungs with the soothing scent that was unmistakable Joe. “Come back to bed. You need to rest,” Joe said. “You must be exhausted.” 

“I am.” 

Joe leaned away and threaded his hand through Nicky’s pulling him back towards their room. Nicky didn’t follow, however, looking around the quiet house. 

“You need to rest,” Joe said again. 

“I’m not sure I will be able to.” 

Joe gave him a knowing smile. “Why, because you think there is a threat inside the house?” 

“Booker’s gone.” 

“I was not talking about Booker,” Joe replied. “You don’t see him as a threat, anyway.” Joe nodded his head towards the hallway, where Copley’s makeshift office sat, dark and empty. “Now, Copley, on the other hand. You don’t trust him.” 

“And you do?” 

Joe laughed. “Absolutely not. He’s part of the reason we’re here in the first place.”

“But?”

“But,” Joe echoed, rubbing a hand down Nicky’s side. “He helped me find you. And for that, he’ll always have my gratitude.” 

“There is still so much that could go wrong,” Nicky argued. 

“And if they do go wrong, we will face them. _Together.”_ Joe tightened his grip on Nicky’s hand and pulled again towards their room. Nicky didn’t fight this time, letting Joe lead him back to bed. “I know it is hard for you, but you need to turn that brain of yours off for a little while. I can practically hear the gears spinning in there.” 

He pushed Nicky softly on the bed. “To be fair,” Nicky said, leaning back against the pillows, “the past few days have been, well, a bit preposterous.” 

“More preposterous than being immortal in the first place?” Joe cocked an eyebrow and smiled at him ruefully. He climbed in the bed behind Nicky. 

“You do make a good point.” 

“You are not the only one that has multiple degrees,” Joe whispered in his ears. 

“Maybe you have the degree in filibustering,” Nicky replied. “You do love to argue.” 

“No, I love to converse with passion,” Joe corrected - _argued,_ Nicky thought, rolling his eyes. Joe pressed himself against his back, and Nicky felt the tight coil of tension that had built up inside him slacken. His eyes closed once more, and the whirling machines in overdrive in his head started to slow. 

“Rest, my light.” Joe’s voice was soft and lilting, a lullaby that sang to him as he felt sleep drape over him like a blanket. “I will be here when you wake up.”

* * *

* * *

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” 

_No._ The answer was on the tip of his tongue, threatening to come out, but he knew the question wasn’t for him. Still, he was sure his message was heard loud and clear by his clenched jaw and crossed arms. It was ignored, of course, and Nicky didn’t even spare Joe a second glance before turning back to Andy, who was standing opposite him in the courtyard. 

“We’ve spared plenty of times before,” she answered with a shrug. 

“You’re mortal, now,” Nicky argued. 

“Which is something you had already assumed, before,” Andy replied, crossing her arms. “This changes nothing.” 

Nicky scoffed. “Are you sure?” he asked, pointing to the table of weapons that Andy had compiled. “Because this certainly says otherwise. I will go hand-to-hand with you, but I will not pick up any of these against you.” 

“It’s cute that you think that you could land a hit on me.” 

“I know you have more skill than I do,” Nicky said, frowning. “I always knew that. But we shouldn’t risk it. Need I remind you that you are still healing from a bullet wound?”

Joe itched to intervene. Better yet, he itched to bring Nicky back to bed. _Their bed._ The way that his body had pressed so seamlessly against Joe’s own will most likely be the only thing he will think about for decades. The way he smelled, and the way he felt so warm and alive under Joe’s grip would likely take its place after that. The way that Nicky had blinked at him with a sleepy smile when they’d awoken trumped them all. 

Despite Nicky’s claim of sleeping trouble, they’d both managed to fall under again quickly, the events of the past few days catching up with them. So much so, that they’d slept the entire morning away and well into the afternoon, woken only by their stomachs and bladders. 

Nile had been up when they’d finally shown their faces again, but Andy had still been sleeping. Copley was back in his office again, typing madly on his keyboard. By the look Nicky gave the closed office door, Joe hoped he would stay in there for a while. 

Nicky had cooked a late meal for them, gently brushing off Nile’s insistence to help, much to Joe’s amusement. They’d enjoyed each other's company, and for the first time in a while, Joe felt himself start to relax and look towards a peaceful future. 

It hadn’t lasted, obviously, as Andy had burst through the doors to grab Nicky, dragging him out to the backyard to run him through the gauntlet, apparently. Joe had decided to watch, begrudgingly. If only to make sure Andy didn’t get any more ideas to test Nicky’s immortality. 

“Don’t be such a baby, Nicky,” Andy said. “I’m fine. Besides, I trust that you won’t accidently murder me.” 

“Your faith in me is astounding,” Nile replied dryly. Nile snorted from where she’d settled next to Joe. 

“Fine, then think of this as a training session for Nile. She’s fallen behind because we’ve spent all our time looking for your dumb ass.” Andy reached behind her and drew her labrys. Joe turned to watch Nicky, seeing his glass-green eyes widen. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” she smiled. “But I’ve always wanted to use this on you.” 

Nicky huffed out a laugh. “Well, might as well,” he sighed. He walked over to the table of weapons, glancing over each one. It was fairly limited, as they hadn’t been there in a while. Andy hadn’t put out any guns, either, just each of the blades that they’d squirreled away over the years, plus all the weapons that Nicky had on him. 

“You gonna use the khopesh?” Andy asked, nodding to the oddly shaped blade Nicky had used in Hamburg. 

Nicky shook his head. “That is for special occasions only.” 

“You never did tell me where you got it.” 

“I found it.” 

Andy chuckled. “Ass.” 

Nicky smiled cheekily, returning his gaze to the table. He reached his hand forward, slowly, as if he couldn’t decide if he should take it. Whatever argument Nicky had with himself ended, and he picked up a longsword. He unsheathed it, swinging it around a few times expertly, rolling his shoulders back. Joe shifted in his seat, suddenly very warm. Maybe this exercise would be beneficial for all of them. 

Andy hummed. “Seems a bit plain, even for you.” 

Nicky shrugged. “It gets the job done.” 

Nile gasped, grabbing at Joe’s arm. “Oh my God, you’re dating a literal knight in shining armor.” 

Nicky snorted. “I am no knight, Nile.” 

Andy tilted her head. “Good to know,” she said, cryptically. 

Nicky narrowed his eyes. “You’re scheming.” Joe bit his lip to stop himself from smiling. Nicky was right; Andy was definitely up to something. But even after all the time they’ve shared together, Joe was still no closer to figuring out what goes on in her head. 

Andy smiled sweetly back at Nicky. “Who’s to say?” 

They started to pace around each other, blades ready, but no one made the first move. “Still sleepy?” Andy jested. 

“I’m thinking,” Nicky replied. “This is a good lesson for you, Nile. Take your time sizing up your opponent. Patience is a virtue.” 

Andy rolled her eyes. “Your idea of patience varies exponentially from ours. If you had your way, we’d be out here all night.” 

Nicky shrugged. “I have nowhere to be.” 

Andy charged suddenly, swinging her blade in a wide arc. Joe’s heart caught in his throat, his hand clamping down on Nile’s. But Nicky blocked easily, swinging right back at Andy in offense. They exchanged a few more hits, testing blows, sizing the other one up. 

While Nicky had claimed he wasn’t a knight, it was clear that he was very comfortable with the blade. He moved flawlessly, like he was dancing effortlessly on lily pads, barely making waves in the treacherous water below him. 

He wondered how old Nicky was. He’d been wondering since he’d found out that Nicky was like them. He’d been desperate to know, desperate to know everything else about him, really. But they had a whole lifetime ahead of them, _multiple ones,_ really. Joe was in no rush. 

Things between Andy and Nicky had started to get heated, the times between their attacks basically non-existent. They were elegant moving together, and Joe’s fingers itched for his sketchbook. Andy managed to land a body check against Nicky, sending him to the ground, but the man was already up and retreating before Andy could swing a finishing blow. “Not bad,” she said, not even out of breath. “You’re much better than Joe, when I first fought him.” 

“I barely had decades of experience,” Joe argued. “This is hardly a fair comparison.” 

“And Nicky has God-knows how many,” Nile added, coming to his defense. 

“At least seven hundred, by my estimation,” Andy continued, charging back at Nicky. 

This time, Nicky blocked her attack, sword meeting labrys. “We know that you’ve met Quynh at some point in your life. That’s at least five hundred right there,” she continued, face inches from Nicky’s as they grappled together. “But your choice of weapon was very telling.” 

Nicky huffed, yanking his sword away from Andy before swinging it back towards her in a wide arc. “Is this exercise just to figure out how old I am?” 

“I promised no questions, but I didn’t promise not to find answers for myself,” Andy grinned. “Sound familiar?” 

_Seven hundred years._ Was Nicky really that old? Andy knew best about these things, and Nicky certainly carried the wisdom of someone that old. Still, he didn’t like to think of Nicky being that old and being alone that whole time. 

“You see, Nile,” Nicky said, blatantly ignoring Andy, “this is what modern times is lacking. With all of your guns and technology, you miss out on the real intimacy of the fight.” There was a fine sheen of sweat that had appeared across his forehead, and suddenly Joe’s mouth was very dry. “There is a certain enjoyment in engaging this way. It is if you are playing a game; your opponent is as well, but your job is to figure out what game they’re playing in order to defeat them.” 

“Like I told Joe, I think I’ll stick with my guns, thank you very much,” Nile called out in response. 

Nicky _tsked,_ dissatisfied. “Take Andy, here.” They were circling each other again, getting ready for another bout. “Fighting Andy is like playing backgammon against a computer.” 

Both Joe and Nile laughed, at Andy’s face if anything. “You dare compare me to those infernal machines?” 

“The computer has more knowledge than you could ever hope to know,” Nicky continued. “It knows strategies and moves that you couldn’t even begin to imagine.” 

“That does sound like Andy,” Nile commented. “You can’t beat the computer.” 

Andy and Nicky clashed together again. “But that’s the thing, you can,” Nicky argued, gritting his teeth. “Backgammon is a game of strategy, but also chance. Even you have the same odds as the computer does on a dice roll.” 

Andy pushed against Nicky harder, aiming a blow right for his gut. Nicky barely got his blade there in time. “You just need one good roll,” Nicky continued. “One stroke of luck, and then you can make a move that the computer doesn’t even expect.” 

Suddenly, he let his blade slide away, Andy tipping forward from the loss of resistance, her labrys burying into Nicky’s side. Joe cried out and Nile gasped; even Andy looked shocked. Nicky didn’t waste any more time, however. With Andy’s blade effectively stuck in him, he grabbed her and twisted sharply to the side, knocking them both to the ground. 

Nicky rolled on top of Andy before she could move, pulling a dagger - because of course Nicky was hiding one - and held it against Andy’s throat. Andy blinked. 

_“Holy shit,”_ Nile whispered. 

Nicky tossed his knife in the air, catching it by the blade, so the hilt was pressed against Andy’s face. He tapped it against her nose gently. “Looks like I was able to get a hit in, after all,” he murmured. 

For a moment, nobody moved. Then Andy was laughing, wild and carefree, in a way that Joe hadn’t heard in decades. Nicky smiled at her amusement, leaning back on his heels, swaying slightly as he pulled the labrys from his side. 

The fresh wave of blood that poured out had Joe sprinting over to him, yanking Nicky up. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he snapped. 

“I’m fine, Joe,” Nicky sighed, lifting up his shirt for Joe to see his skin already knitting back together. 

“You are absolutely insane,” Andy chuckled, getting to her feet. 

“It was more of a visual lesson,” Nicky said with a shrug. 

“What, _no,”_ Joe argued. “This isn’t a—,” he paused, spinning around to face Nile, who was looking at the rest of them with wide eyes. “This is _not_ a lesson,” he said, wagging a finger at her. “Do not listen to him. You will not be doing this.” 

“That’s the second time you’ve surprised me this week,” Andy commented. “I’m getting real sick of it.” Despite that, she held out her hand for Nicky to shake. Nicky clasped her forearm instead, a warrior's greeting, and Andy grinned. 

“One last thing, Nile,” said Nicky, smiling back at Andy. “Make sure you choose your move carefully. The computer is always learning, and once you surprise them, you won’t be able to do it the same way again.” 

“That’s for damn sure,” Andy replied, picking up her labrys and wiping it clean. 

Joe sighed, realizing that he was just going to be ignored, checking Nicky’s side again, satisfied that the wound had already closed. 

“What game is Joe?” Joe shot Nile a glare, narrowing his eyes at her question. 

“What?” 

“You’ve fought Joe before, for real,” Nike said. “What game did you decide he was playing?” 

Nicky gave him a once over, eyes tracking slowly over his body. He hummed appreciatively, and Joe’s cheeks reddened. “Mancala,” he said. 

“And why is that?” 

“Joe is quick,” Nicky smiled. “There is no time for patience with him. He usually makes the first move, and they are always on the offensive.” 

“So why mancala?”

“Mancala is typically a short game,” Nicky explained. “The thing is, though, once you choose your starting move, your entire play is laid out. Your opponent knows what you’ll do before your turn even ends.” He looked at Joe with twinkling eyes. “So, while Joe makes the first move, it can actually be his downfall. After his first move, he gets very predictable.” 

Joe spluttered, gawking at Nicky as Andy cackled behind him. _“Predictable?”_

“Do you remember Malta differently than I?” Nicky asked, in the same cocky tone he had when they were there. Joe huffed, knocking his shoulder against Nicky’s. “You got lucky,” he grumbled. 

“If that’s what helps you sleep at night.” 

Both women chuckled madly, and even Joe couldn’t keep the grin from his face, his chest lightening. This was their new normal. All of them, with Nicky there. It was if he were always meant to be there, and any time that existed before was inconsequential. 

“Come on, Nile,” said Andy, tugging the younger woman towards the house. “Let’s leave these two love birds to duke it out.” 

Joe heard them leave, but his eyes never left Nicky, watching as the other man smiled fondly as they left. “You’re happy.” The thought just slipped out. 

Nicky just smiled wider, glancing at Joe. “I am,” he admitted. “I am not alone, anymore.” He parroted back the statement that Joe had whispered to him in Hamburg. Joe squeezed a hand on Nicky’s shoulder, a silent agreement and a promise. _You’ll never be alone again._

Joe looked down, eyeing the longsword that Nicky still held in his right hand. Nicky caught him looking. “What?” he asked. 

“Predictable, huh?” Joe replied, walking over to the weapons table. His scimitar was there - he’d brought it with him from England. A part of him had wished that Nicky would have picked it up when fighting Andy, his mouth watering at the chance of seeing him move with Joe’s preferred blade. But somehow, he thought it would be equally enjoyable seeing his talents against it as well. He picked up the weapon and drew it, turning back towards Nicky. 

Nicky looked vaguely green, staring down at the weapon with slight unease. “Yours?” he asked, shakily. 

Joe nodded. “For a while now,” he added. “What, you're not a fan? I thought you had a blade for every occasion.” 

“I don’t particularly like those,” Nicky answered quietly. “Just a personal preference.” 

Joe shrugged, not pushing it further. It was clear Nicky didn’t want to talk about it. “You mind if I use it?” 

Nicky finally looked away from the blade, back at Joe, his eyes widened. “You want to spar?” 

“I think I’m entitled to a rematch from Malta,” Joe countered. Nicky laughed, but nodded, walking back into position across from Joe, raising his own blade back up. “You won’t be pulling anything like that, though,” he said, pointing to his blood-stained shirt. 

“I promise,” Nicky said with a nod. 

“You know I’ve thought about this quite a few times,” Joe grinned, swinging his sword a few times in practice. 

“Me, at the other end of your blade?” Nicky smiled in response, the pair starting to circle each other. “I won’t lie, there were a few times where I had the same thought.” 

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” Joe replied. He shuffled left suddenly, experimentally, and Nicky mirrored his movement to the right. The tension built between the two of them and for a moment, Joe was back in Malta squaring off against Nicky for the first time. But this time was anything like then. Their bodies were loose and excitable, both men grinning dumbly at the other. “Dance with me?” Joe shot him another beaming smile. 

“I thought you’d never ask,” Nicky replied. 

They clashed together as Joe darted forward quickly, blades clanging loudly as they connected. Every step, every move was matched in equal measure. Two sides on a balance beam, one not able to fully tip over the other. Both he and Nicky had always been competitive, but this felt light and freeing, like they were playing more than fighting. _Playing a game,_ like Nicky had said. 

Nicky was beautiful like this. Joe had to keep reminding himself to focus, too close to losing himself in the way Nicky’s body curled, or the way his muscles moved, too many times. He caught Nicky’s blinding smile and Joe realized that he too was grinning like an absolute loon. 

“You’re getting sloppy already,” Nicky chastised. “Distracted, are we?” 

“Like you’re any better,” Joe laughed, lunging forward, his blow getting blocked immediately by Nicky. 

“It’s alright,” Nicky continued. “Just admit defeat. It will be our little secret.” 

The competitiveness was back, roaring inside him. _I’ll show you predictable,_ he thought. He feigned left, Nicky following right after him. But then Joe dropped to a crouch, swinging a leg out to sweep Nicky’s out from under him, in a move that he’d been doing for centuries. Nicky fell straight on his back and Joe raised his sword high, blade reflecting the sun, ready to slice across his opponent’s neck - not that he would deliver the finishing blow to Nicky, of course. 

He was stopped however, when he felt the tip of Nicky’s blade rest right under his heart. He had managed to keep his grip on his sword with a single hand, releasing the other to bring to the ground to soften his fall. It hadn’t been a perfect counter, however. Nicky’s sword trembled against Joe’s chest. The blade was heavy; it wasn’t meant to be wielded with one hand. Nicky had clearly done this before, but with a different sword. 

“Huh, maybe I am that predictable,” Joe laughed. He had barely lowered his blade when he caught a glimpse of Nicky. He was frozen, his hand still locked around his longsword, mere inches from Joe’s chest. His face wasn’t smiling like Joe’s, instead twisted and stricken. His eyes wide and afraid, his breath coming in short pants. “Nicky?” Joe asked, dropping his sword and reaching out an arm. “Nicolò, what’s wrong? Did I cut you?” 

Nicky must have caught wind of his arm coming toward him, because all of a sudden, Nicky dropped his sword, scrambling away from Joe. “Nicky!” He tried to take another step forward but stopped as Nicky moved further out of reach like a cornered animal. Joe raised his hands in the air and spoke slowly. “Nicolò, everything’s alright. I’m here.” 

It was apparently the wrong thing to say. Nicky made a wounded noise, shaking his head fervently. _What had happened?_

“How old are you?” The question was asked so softly. At first, Joe hadn’t even realized it was meant for him. 

“What?” 

Nicky charged over to him suddenly, grabbing at his shoulders. “How old are you?” he cried, shaking Joe’s shoulders. For a split second, Joe didn’t even recognize him. “When did you die? _Tell me!”_ Joe startled at Nicky’s tone. In all the years they’d known each other, even when they were at their worst, Nicky had never yelled. 

“The, uh, the end of the 11th century,” he replied, still lost. “1099.” 

Impossibly, Nicky paled further, his body swaying slightly like he was going to pass out. Joe reached out to catch him, but Nicky still kept an iron grip on his biceps. “ _Where?”_ he whispered. 

“Jerusalem,” Joe replied. 

Nicky crumpled then, and Joe wasn’t fast enough to catch him. He threw his head into his hands and wailed like he was dying, and Joe had never been more afraid. “Nicolò, what is—” 

He was cut off by Nicky pushing away from him again, the man crying in rapid-fire Italian. It was too quick and slurred for Joe to translate, but even then, he knew some of the sounds made had not been used by Italians in centuries. 

“Nicky? Nicky, I don’t understand.” _Tell me! Let me help you!_

He looked at Joe, and Joe could hardly resist flinching. Nicky’s eyes were wild and unfocused, already red from crying, his skin ashen and sickly. Joe opened his mouth to reply again, but was cut off by Nicky standing sharply, walking back over to Joe. 

He reached a hand out slowly, and Joe immediately reciprocated, wanting desperately to hold him. But Nicky jerked back, a silent warning for Joe to stay still. Joe nodded, relenting, and forced himself to remain still as Nicky reached forward again. 

He curled his hand around the left side of Joe’s ribs. “Malta,” he said, hand trembling as he traced over where he’d stabbed Joe, mimicking the movement he’d made in Hamburg. Joe frowned, but nodded. Nicky shifted his hand further up, resting it right where Nicky had rested his blade when they’d been fighting. _“Jerusalem.”_

Joe furrowed his brow. “What?” 

Nicky pressed his hand harder against Joe’s chest, and he winced slightly. _“Jerusalem,”_ he repeated, as if that would answer all of Joe’s questions. What the hell did he mean? Malta and Jerusalem weren’t even related, so why did—

Joe froze. 

Joe had been stabbed in Malta. Nicky stabbed him. Nicky _killed_ him. 

He looked back down at Nicky’s hand, half expecting a blade to be there instead. 

Joe had been stabbed in Jerusalem. Nicky? Nicky had stabbed him? Nicky had…

He refused to finish the thought, and this time it was Joe that was stumbling away. _“No,”_ he whispered, shaking his head at Nicky. “No, you didn’t…” _You didn’t do this. You weren’t there._

But Nicky just nodded, his breath quickening as fresh tears streamed down his face. _“Nicky,”_ Joe said, reaching for him again. 

Nicky slapped his hand down. “Don’t touch me,” he hissed. He put a hand to his mouth and let out a low sob. “I—I can’t,” he said, his chest jerking in harsh pants. “I can’t be here. I need to leave. I need—I need to leave.” 

He stumbled past Joe, and Joe turned to watch him leave. He fumbled towards the house, like Booker would on his way home from the pub. Nicky threw the door open and stumbled inside, not even casting a second glance at Joe. 

He could hear Nile yelling from inside, barely discernible from his own thoughts screaming at him to chase after Nicky, but he didn’t move. He _couldn’t._

_Jerusalem. Nicky had been in Jerusalem. Nicky had stabbed him in Jerusalem. Nicky had killed him in Jerusalem._

Joe fell to the ground, staring blankly in front of him. Now more than ever, had he wished that they’d just stayed in bed.

* * *

* * *

“Well, I gotta hand it to you,” Nile said as she walked over to him. “I’ve watched a lot of crap reality television, but even I’ve never seen a breakup that fast.” 

Joe bristled but didn’t respond. He was sitting outside, resting on the steps leading up to their house. Nicky had fled hours ago; the sun had already set, and each second that ticked by felt like a century. He’d been blissfully left alone for the most part. Even Andy had taken one look at him after she saw what had happened, and smartly decided to leave herself out of it. He had thought Nile would follow her lead, like she always did. 

He heard her skip down the steps to stand in front of him. _Apparently not,_ he thought, frowning. 

“So, uh,” Nile paused, rocking back on her heels. “You wanna talk about it?” 

_No._ He wasn’t sure what he’d even say. Maybe if he didn’t say anything, Nile would just leave. Unsurprisingly, she didn’t. “I’ll tell you a secret of mine, if you tell me one of yours?” It was reminiscent of the conversation they’d had in London, after he’d told her about his feelings for Nicky in the first place. He gave her a pleading look, but didn’t say no. 

Nile beamed, satisfied that she’d forced his hand. “Alright, I’ll go first this time,” she said. “You know the boxed dinner we had yesterday? It was definitely expired, but I didn’t say anything.” 

Joe spluttered, laughing despite his foul mood. “It definitely tasted expired.” 

“It tasted just fine.” 

Joe chuckled again, even though he knew it was a poor cover up for the tears that streamed down his face. He felt Nile put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You know, you don’t have to say anything. I can leave you alone, if you’d like.” 

_Yes._ “No,” Joe said instead. 

He heard Nile plop down next to him and wrap him tightly in a hug. She held him there, firm and unwavering, for a long while, patiently waiting for Joe to calm down. 

“He was there, in The Crusades,” Joe interrupted, his voice hollow. The words tasted like lead in his mouth. 

“You’re shitting me,” Nile said. She paused. “Which one?” 

Joe barked out a laugh. It was grating and scratchy. “Does it matter?”

“Well, I was hoping for some silver lining,” Nile replied. “Like it blows, figuring out that he was just another token white guy, but it might have been an easier pill to swallow if he wasn’t like that the same time you were there.” 

Nile gave him a long look. “But if I had to guess, it was the first one.” 

“He said he killed me.” 

Nile groaned next to him. “Can we not have one nice thing?” she asked, face tilted towards the sky. Joe bit back another smile. He couldn’t help but agree there. 

She turned back to look at him. “Do you want me to get Andy’s axe?” she said, smiling when Joe laughed. “Because I will. I’ll go and chop him into bite size pieces if you need me too.” 

“No, that’s not necessary, Nile.” 

“I will fight him,” she said firmly. “I’m not afraid. In fact, when he was leaving, I asked him what game to play against him if we were fighting so I knew how to kick his ass for hurting you,” Nile continued. “He told me chess.” 

Joe bit down on his tongue, huffing out a breath through his nose. _Of course,_ he thought. Of course Nicky would say that. 

Nile caught his distressed look, and she tilted his head in question. “Why?” 

“What is the point of chess?” Joe asked morosely. 

“Nicky asked me the same question before leaving,” Nile replied, frowning. 

“Well?” Joe asked. 

“To capture your opponent’s king.” 

Joe hummed. He leaned to the side to grab a branch that had fallen from a nearby tree. Wielding it like a pencil, he started to draw some of the chess pieces in the dirt in front of him, grateful to have something to do with his hands. “Have you played before?” 

“A few times,” Nile replied. “Mainly just forced too, by my brother.” 

Joe smiled as he finished doodling the last of the pieces, the pawn. “The game is not for everyone.” He gestured to the drawn pieces in the dirt with the stick. “What is the most powerful piece on the board?” 

“The queen.” Nile pointed to the corresponding sketch. 

“Are you sure?” 

Nile frowned, nodding slowly. “She can move anywhere on the board.” 

“But does that make her the most powerful?” 

Nile sighed, crossing her arms. “I think I've had enough cryptic lessons for today.” 

“Fair enough,” Joe answered. “What about the rook, or the bishop? They may be limited to certain directions, but they can move all the way across the board as well, if needed. The knight can move in a way that even the queen can’t. And the pawn? The pawn is a wild card. It can only move one space, but that one space can change the outcome of the whole game.” 

“Okay,” Nile said slowly. “So?” 

“So, is the queen really the most powerful? You don’t need her to win. There have been many games won without one. Any of these pieces could do the same job. Power in chess does not come from the piece chosen in particular, but more from how you use said pieces.”

“I’m starting to remember why I never liked this game,” Nile grumbled. 

“Think about it this way,” Joe said. “What is the weakest piece on the board?” 

“The king.” 

“Why?” 

“The king is the only one who can’t put the opponent in check by himself,” Nile answered. “He can’t win the game alone. And he can’t really defend himself.” 

“The thing about chess is that the game is different every time you play,” said Joe. “There are infinite possibilities. I’d imagine that’s why it is so enjoyable for many people. But it is also why it is frustrating for others. There is no straight path,” he explained, sketching out a quick board in the dirt. “You not only need to be multiple steps ahead of your opponent, but also have multiple paths to go. You can get lost inside your own head and forget the real purpose of the game.” 

“Which apparently is not to capture your opponent’s king,” Nile replied. “Because otherwise you wouldn’t be teaching me this lesson, Mr. Miyagi style.” 

Joe smiled again, marking initials in each of the spaces to the corresponding piece. “It is easy to forget the path you’re on and get lost in the maze while playing chess. Each of these pieces have power and each of them can help you win the game. And because of that, it makes it hard to lose any of them. You move the bishop to protect the rook, charge the knight to block moves against the bishop. You send the queen to protect all of them and sacrifice the pawn to keep the queen in play.” With each statement, he drew arrows across the board, showing all the potential moves and blocks the pieces could make for the other, stuck in an endless cycle. “This is dangerous, because by doing this, you aren’t protecting the one thing that needs to be.” He circled the one piece that hadn’t moved on the board. “What is the point of chess?” he asked Nile again. 

“To protect your king?” 

Joe nodded. “To protect yourself.” He kicked his foot through the dirt, erasing his doodles. “That is why Nicky said facing him is like playing chess. He forgets to protect himself. He has the self-preservation of a gnat.” It was clearly evidenced by the way he’d handled himself when sparing with Andy.

He looked over at Nile, who was still frowning at the ground. “Oh,” was all she said, like she’d expected a different answer. “Can I ask what you’re going to do?” she asked when she looked back up at Joe. 

“I have no idea. I certainly didn’t expect to be thinking about the Crusades today.” 

“How did this ever come up?” 

“Hell if I know,” Joe huffed. “We were sparring, just as I’d always pictured we would. I got the upper hand and moved to strike - not that I would ever follow through - and he just about keeled over. He asked me how old I was and when I did, I thought he was going to be sick. He told me that he’d killed me. I know he wouldn’t lie about this, but how could he know? Why would he say that?” 

“Oh shit,” Nile exclaimed, interrupting Joe’s turmoil. “I think I know why.” 

“What?” 

“When we were in London, that first night after Merrick’s,” she started. “I couldn’t sleep. I went to the kitchen to get something to drink and Nicky was there. We… talked.” 

“Talked?” 

“He took one look at me and knew that something was wrong. He offered to listen, since he was up, and I sure as hell wasn’t going back to sleep anytime soon.” 

“Sounds like him,” Joe smiled sadly. _Are you sure?_ a vicious voice whispered in his head. “What did you talk about?” 

“Afghanistan,” Nile answered softly, picking at an invisible thread on the leg of her pants. She was uncomfortable, and Joe yearned to comfort her. Each of their first deaths was personal, _intimate,_ in a sense. They’d all died countless times, but there was nothing quite like the first time. The rest of them hadn’t pushed Nile on her time in the Middle East. She’d talk to them when she was ready. Apparently, she was more ready than they’d thought, if she’d already discussed it with Nicky. 

If it was anyone else, Joe might have been hurt that Nile took solace in an outsider instead of the rest of them to share her trauma with. But Nicky had a way with these things. Nicky wasn’t one to judge. He didn’t demean, or scoff at others, even when they were at their lowest. It was clearly evident, with how he’d acted with Booker last night. He was a solid presence, a silent ear for their word, and unbiased party as they worked through their woes, only offering kind words of encouragement or wise threads of advice. He’d seen them all at their absolute worst, when they’d come back from jobs looking no more than broken husks, when their faith in humanity had dried up. Nicky never hesitated, always welcoming them in with open arms and a warm heart. 

“And Merrick’s,” she continued. “Well, vaguely.” 

“And?”

“And the reason he remembers you is because you were the first person he killed.” 

Joe blinked, startled. “What?” he gasped. 

“It all makes sense now,” Nile continued. “I told him I couldn’t sleep because of what I’d done. He sat with me and told me he knew how I felt, because he still remembered the first person he killed as well.” 

“And it was me?” 

“He said he knew because he recognized your weapon - shit, he said _sword,_ why the hell didn’t I think that was weird? When you were sparring, he probably recognized your sword and had a flashback.” 

That was certainly plausible. Everything had been fine. But then Joe had moved for the kill and Nicky looked like he’d seen a ghost. Joe leaned further against the steps, his head pounding with jumbled thoughts. “It really was Nicky,” he whispered, tracing a wound that had been gone for almost a millennium. “And if that was him, then oh _shit,”_ he moaned suddenly, dropping his head in his hands. 

“What?” 

No one forgets their first death. Not even him. Joe would never forget the first bite of steel his body endured. How it felt like it had dipped fire into his veins. He didn’t remember Nicky - and honestly, he didn’t like to think of Nicky being there - but he remembered what had come after. He remembered slashing his sword around wildly, like a cornered animal, trying to escape. He remembered the thud of the bodies hitting the ground. 

_Thud._

Just like it had sounded in Hamburg. 

Joe wanted to be sick. “I killed him too,” he whispered. “I had to have.” 

_“Oh shit,”_ Nile echoed. “He didn’t tell you?” 

“He failed to mention that part,” Joe hissed. “But I know he knows.” _No one forgets their first death._

The pair descended into silence, picking through the cacophony that was how housed in their heads. Joe really wished they’d just stayed in bed, now. “I don’t know if this helps,” Nile started. “But he said, ‘ _memories like these keep us accountable’_. He said it was a lesson for him, a reminder to try and do good in the world.” 

Now that did sound like Nicky. Joe’s heart clenched, thinking of the man he’d fallen in love with, and now the faceless man that had felled him in Jerusalem. 

“This really should come from him,” Nile continued. “But even back in London, I could feel all the shame he felt. That it still scared him, even now.” 

Joe swallowed thickly, nodding slowly. He wasn’t really sure what to do with that. “Now I’m not saying that this is something that isn’t going to take some time to work through. I don’t really think there are guidelines to use if the man you’re into did a Facebook check-in at a mass genocide.” 

Joe huffed out a laugh, but Nile kept talking. “And listen, he could have lied to you. If he didn’t say anything, there was no way that the rest of us would have ever known. But he told you anyway.” She paused before adding, “You said that Nicky sees himself as the king in chess because he forgets how vulnerable he is. I think it’s because he sees himself as the biggest threat on the board. Not to his opponent, but to his _own team_.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“You said it yourself, Joe. People lose at chess because they’re too worried about the other pieces. They forget the power that they have, the power needed to win the game. They’re so afraid of losing what they have, that they don’t see that by doing so, they leave themselves exposed,” she said. “In fact, by exposing himself, he puts the other pieces at more risk because he needs them to defend himself. By trying to protect the other pieces, he probably just ended up doing more damage.” 

Nile grabbed his hand and squeezed it gently. “I haven't known him very long, but it seems like every move he’s made has been to protect you, regardless of if that meant putting himself at risk. Inciting a plane crash is hardly romantic by my standards, but I think he had the right intentions.” 

Joe sniffled, wiping away a few tears that had fallen. 

“The king may be the weakest piece on the board, but he’s also the biggest threat. He's not meant to survive on his own, but the thought of surrounding himself with others and putting them at risk is even more dangerous in his eyes.” She smiled at him kindly. “I think that when Nicky asked me what the point of chess was, he was really asking himself.” 

He remembered Nicky’s face staring up at him, eyes wide and wild. Joe had thought he’d been afraid of him. Nicky had been afraid. Not of Joe, but of _himself_. 

Joe jumped to his feet suddenly, tumbling out of Nile’s grasp. “And where do you think you’re going, hotshot?” 

“I need to find Nicky.” 

“Thatta boy.” He could hear the smile in her voice. 

Joe spun around to face her again. “Thank you, Nile,” he said, scooping her into a hug. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.” 

“Honestly, I’m starting to wonder how any of you human disasters made it this far without me.” 

Joe laughed brightly, kissing her gently on the cheek before tearing down the steps of their house, and out into the street, yet again, in search of Nicky.

* * *

* * *

Joe cursed, turning another corner and finding it completely empty. If he’d let Nicky slip through his fingers and lost him for good, Joe would never forgive himself. He’d been running through the streets for what felt like hours. He knew it was pointless; Berlin was a large city, and if Nicky wanted to disappear, Joe would never find him. But he refused to leave. He’d chase him until the soles from his shoes were worn, and even then, he’d only stop to go barefoot, only to start again. 

The streets were mostly abandoned because of the late hour, the only people he’d run into were employees heading to a late-night shift and a group of rowdy students returning from the bars. 

He jogged onto a new street and looked wildly around him. _Where are you,_ _Nicolò?_ he wanted to scream. Joe slowed to a halt. He should head back and get the others. They could help find him. Joe needed to find him. He needed to talk to him. He needed to know that— 

He froze when he caught sight of a lone figure sitting on a bench. He was sat in the middle of a park, lightened only by the occasional streetlight. It was a miracle that Joe had even seen him in the first place, for how still he was. To a more casual onlooker, he would look like just another shrub. 

Joe approached slowly, but he already knew who it was. He knew the lines created by that body just as well as his own. 

“Nicolò,” he said softly. He wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t as if he’d snuck up on him; Joe was sure that Nicky had clocked him from down the block. Nicky hadn’t taken off upon his approach, which was a good sign. But it did nothing to quell his nerves, his heart throbbing in his chest. 

Nicky didn’t respond, his head still bowed, his hands in his lap. He wondered, for a moment, if Nicky was praying. He’d prayed in front of Joe plenty of times, same as Joe had with him - another gift shared between their friendship. There was a flicker of doubt, and Joe almost took a step back to leave the man in peace, but he couldn’t. He wouldn’t leave Nicky. He just had to figure out what to say to him. 

It wasn’t the first time that Nicky had left him speechless, his mouth coming up fruitless in every language that he knew. Joe just didn’t think it would have been because of anything like this. 

He heard Nicky let out a deep breath, shivering slightly. “You must be cold,” Joe said, on instinct. Nicky hated the cold even more than he did. For as unforgiving as the sun was to his pale complexion, Nicky just took it in stride, his stubborn self risking burn after burn to bask in the sun for a bit longer, curling in any available patch he could find like a cat lounging on a windowsill. Joe quite liked the pink that tinged his cheek and nose after a long day outside, even though it never lasted long. Nicky always said that he must have been blessed by good genes, but then again, it wasn’t like he could tell Joe the real reason why the sunburn never lasted. 

“What time is it?” Nicky’s response was not what he was expecting, but it was more of the tone of it that shocked him. Exhausted and broken, much like Nicky looked himself. 

“Um, I don’t know,” Joe replied. He walked around the bench slowly, as if approaching a frightened deer. Nicky didn’t move in response, so Joe continued, sitting down gingerly next to him. “I didn’t bring my phone.” 

Nicky didn’t reply and Joe risked a glance at him. His skin looked like pure alabaster, almost glowing in the moonlight where it was exposed under his black hood. The only color intermingled was pink - not the kind that Joe enjoyed, after Nicky’s been in the sun. This coloring surrounded his eyes and nostrils, his skin no doubt rubbed raw from Nicky’s twitchy fingers. Even his eyes, usually shimmering and bright, paled in comparison to the signs of grief painted on his face. 

Joe yearned to reach out, to rub his finger under Nicky’s eyes, forcing that pain away, but he didn’t move. “I thought you left,” he whispered. 

Nicky jerked his head in Joe’s direction, giving the man a positively haunted look before his face crumpled. “You did?” 

“Maybe, I don’t know.” _Do I know anything?_ “I don’t really know what I thought.” 

“It took me so long to get here,” Nicky admitted, his voice shaking as fresh tears slipped down his cheeks. “Why would I leave?” he paused, before adding with a harsh laugh, “Where would I even go?” 

He clearly wasn’t just talking about Germany. Joe’s heart throbbed, but he didn’t know what to say. What could he say? They sat next to each other in silence, staring out at the abandoned park in front of them. Suddenly, bells tolled loudly, cutting across the deadly quiet, starting both men. Joe counted the tolls, his heart pounding from the dreaded sound. “There you have it,” he said to Nicky. “Twelve bells. It’s morning, now.” 

He saw Nicky nod into agreement, reaching into his pocket. “For you,” he said softly, so soft that Joe almost didn’t catch it. He looked down and saw what was sitting in Nicky’s hands, cradled as gently as if he were holding a baby bird. 

_A plum._

He reached out and took the fruit from Nicky. “A plum?” 

“You like plums, don’t you?” Nicky’s voice caught him off guard and Joe shot him a quick glance. Nicky looked suddenly terrified, as if the thought of Joe’s taste in fruit would uproot his very existence. 

“I do,” Joe replied in a soothing voice, trying to smile. “There’s not a lot that can beat a good plum.” 

“So I’ve been told.” Nicky looked incredibly relieved to hear this and flopped back against the bench. 

“Why did you get me this?” 

“Ah.” Nicky dug into his pocket again. “I found this flier,” he said, handing it over to Joe. “It's student appreciation day at this coffee shop I passed. It’s not much of a holiday, and the shop doesn’t open for a few hours, but _technicalities,”_ he shrugged. “Happy ‘Student Appreciation Day’, Joe.” 

Joe laughed, even though he wanted to cry. “How on Earth did you find one at this hour?” 

“There are twenty-four-hour shops around, Joe,” Nicky replied. “I would have gotten more, but I realized I didn’t have any money. Hopefully one missing plum won’t cause too much of an issue.” 

“You _stole_ me a plum?” 

“I was a bit desperate.” 

Joe laughed again, Nicky quietly joining in. Silence grew between the two of them again, and Joe looked down at the small fruit in his hands. An olive branch. 

“I sailed in from Jaffa,” Nicky started slowly. “Reinforcements.” His voice was quiet and detached, much like it had been upon their first meeting in Malta. “We were told that we were needed. We were told that we would be the ones to deliver the city.” 

Joe remembered when they’d first seen them come into view. For a split second they’d been filled with relief, as they were waiting for more men as well. They’d been locked in a stalemate with the Invaders, hoping to outlast the other. They’d watched for weeks behind Jerusalem’s walls as the Christians surrounded them like a shadow, not having enough equipment to press forward, but not having enough to go home either. They’d been chipping away at their numbers steadily, attacking their hunting parties and poisoning their waters, slowly eradicating the stain of them on their land. When he and his brothers had seen the reinforcements, fresh-faced and strong, he thought that even then, they had known what would happen. 

Nicky had been there. He’d been one of those fresh-faced men, delivering the fate of Joe’s worst nightmare. 

“I remember thinking how ugly the city looked,” Nicky continued. “We had nothing but time on the ship, so we’d all cast ideas on what the Holy City would be like. It wasn’t what I was expecting.” His fingers twisted in his lap nervously as he spoke. “It was dirty and crumbling, parts being held together by a smattering of patchworks. Even with each day that passed, there was always lingering smoke in the air, surrounding the city like a bog. The ground around it was stained with red and decay, the sparkling waters either dried or defiled.” He turned slightly towards Joe as if to catch his gaze, but he stopped before he did. “I remember thinking that this wasn’t what it should look like. That the city should have been revered.” 

Joe agreed silently. There were times that he’d look behind him and forget what city he was standing in, in the first place. War created such shrouds, and it didn’t just change the people fighting in it. 

“My sentiment was pointless.” Nicky let out a harsh scoff. “If the city had been blemished before, we came in and carved the whole thing out of the canvas until it was completely destroyed.” 

He did look at Joe then, his face like a ghost. Joe nodded softy for him to continue. “In all of my years, I have never felt the heat quite like I felt in Jerusalem,” Nicky continued. “The sun, she was so unforgiving. She lingered and stung, and sweetened the smell of death in the air. It felt as if smoke lined my lungs for a month, but that _fire,”_ he whispered hoarsely. 

_Greek fire._ A last-ditch effort to stop their siege weapons. Nicky was right; there had been nothing like it. He would never forget the way it ate through the landscape like a greedy demon. He would never forget the screams of those who got caught in its wake. He’d never heard one like that since, and he’d lived through napalm and mustard gas. 

“When did you die?” Joe finally asked. “When did I—,” _kill you,_ he couldn’t finish.

Nicky looked at him sharply, his eyes wide. Joe sighed, tracing a hand over his own stomach. “Jerusalem,” he said, repeating Nicky’s earlier words and motions. But then he reached over to Nicky gently, brushing over his shoulder and the junction of his neck. “Jerusalem,” he said again, more softly. His hand shook slightly, as if the blade was still in his hand. “Because I did kill you, right? I remember getting stabbed, but I also remember that I was able to get away.”

Nicky nodded slowly, patting Joe’s hand where it was still resting against his chest. “And you didn’t think that was worth mentioning?” Joe asked. “That I killed you as well?”

Nicky just shrugged, his gaze returning to the quiet scene in front on them. “You were quick,” he said quietly. “Even then, sparing me any pain. I remember as if it were yesterday.”

“Well, you never really forget your first. First death _and_ first kill.” For Nicky, it had happened at the same time.

Nicky shot him another questioning glance. “Nile figured it out; how you were able to recognize me. I guess you’d given her some clues back in London when you’d talked.” 

Nicky smiled sadly. “She is very clever.” 

“She is.” 

He waited for Nicky to continue. “We fought outside the walls, remember? I never made it inside alive. I suppose I have you to thank for that,” he said. “It’s not like I had expected to make it much farther; my formal training had been fairly lacking.” 

Even with the sharp tang of anger inside him, the thought of him having killed Nicky without so much of a second thought left an ugly taste in his mouth. His memories of that time were vague. Nicky had not been the first Frank he’d killed. At that point he had been swinging his sword around him wildly, like he was trying to cut back untamed grass. 

The only distinct memory he had was the feeling of a sword piercing him in his lower abdomen. He barely registered the pain before he was bringing his scimitar down in retaliation, destroying the errant weed. Destroying Nicky. The more he thought about it, the more it reminded him of their first - _second -_ meeting in Malta. The way that Nicky had slipped his stiletto neatly between his ribs and past his defenses with ease. 

“How long did it take you to wake?” 

“Hours,” Nicky replied. “Maybe most of the day. When I woke the sky was dark, and not just from the smoke. I thought,” he added with a sigh, “I thought that maybe I’d dreamed of dying. I hadn’t eaten or had anything to drink in days. I thought maybe I had just collapsed.” 

Joe had been just as disoriented when he woke up. Covered in blood that he couldn’t remember was his, crushed under a pile of his brothers’ bodies. 

“There wasn’t anyone left alive around me,” Nicky explained. “The siege had moved into the city. I did what I was supposed to do and followed.” Joe heard him gasp then, and caught a few tears slip down his cheeks, reflecting in the moonlight. 

“I can still taste it sometimes,” Nicky whispered. His eyes were wide and shining as they stared at the scene in front of him. Joe knew, however, that they weren’t seeing the greenery from the garden; they were looking at the memory of somewhere else, countries away. “The burning flesh. Sometimes it’s all I can taste for days. That and the ash.” 

He knew the very taste. Joe looked away from the other man quickly, blinking away a few tears of his own as he swallowed thickly. “They never told us, when we left for the city,” he continued. “They never told us there would be…,” he trailed off. 

“What?” Joe asked. 

“People,” Nicky answered simply. “We were told of demons and shades and blasphemers, but nothing about people. About men, and women. _Children.”_ This time, Joe didn’t stop himself from reaching out to gather Nicky in his arms as he began to gasp for breath. Nicky had never felt smaller to him, trembling in his arms erratically. “What happened… God did not do that. We did that. _I_ did that.” 

Joe pressed closer to him, rubbing at the back of Nicky’s neck to try and ground him but he was too lost in his own memory. “I couldn’t even leave, once I saw what had been done,” he admitted. “I was frozen to the ground, forced to see what had happened in those walls.” His body shivered again. “I was killed a few times. Each time, I got up faster and easier. Even then, I knew that I had to have been in Hell. I thought that I had been cursed by God, for what I had done.” 

Joe had taken to his immortality just as well. He’d awoken to the first rays of the next morning, and he'd known immediately that it was too late to save the city. He’d tried all the same, cutting down anything with a pulse in his path, especially when he saw what remained of the city and the people that had inhabited it. He could barely deal with the discovery of his immortality, let alone what had happened at Jerusalem. He wondered if he had ran into Nicky again, killing him yet again when he was lost in his agony. 

“By the time I’d finally convinced myself to move, I had no idea where to go,” Nicky continued. “It was as if I was taking my first steps on my own, and I…,” he paused again. “I tried to help some of the survivors I ran into, but they were smart enough to stay away. In the end, I just ended up wandering. I had no place, stuck in this purgatory.” 

“You didn’t go home?” 

That had been Joe’s first thought. After discovering his new affliction, there was nothing he’d wanted more than his family. He had been plagued by the events of Jerusalem, as well as dreams of Andy and Quynh. He’d actually started making the journey home when he’d been robbed by another group of deserters. They’d watched him gasp back to life and condemned him in every way possible. By the time he’d killed them all, Joe had realized that he couldn’t allow his family to see him like this. Once he’d realized that he wasn’t aging, it fermented his choice. 

“I ran into a few of my bannerman shortly after I’d left,” said Nicky. “At first I was glad. But the wool was already gone from my eyes, and I could see who they were under their masks. No, I did not stay long with him. I did the one thing that any good Christian shouldn’t have done.” 

“Which was?”

“I started to ask questions.” Nicky’s lips ticked upwards into a small smile. 

He didn’t have to tell Joe how it had ended. He rubbed a soothing hand down Nicky’s arm, grabbing the bottom of his shirt, rubbing the material between his fingers. “Thank you for telling me,” Joe said softly. 

“I promised I would not lie to you any longer,” Nicky replied. “You deserved to know what I’d done. What I was.”

Joe’s heart clenched at how defeated Nicky sounded. Nile was right; this was a wound that would linger. But like the rest, it would heal, given time and care. “You know,” Joe added, “if it makes you feel any better, it seems that I killed you first.” 

“It doesn’t.” 

Silence fell between the two of them, broken only by the occasional animal scurrying across the garden. Joe sucked in a deep breath, asking the question neither wanted to. “What now?” 

Nicky startled, as if he remembered he had somewhere else to be, and pulled away from Joe’s grip, standing up from the bench. “I can only imagine the pain that I have caused you,” he whispered softly. “My word might not mean much right now, but I will always come, if you ever need me.” 

“What?” Joe asked, brow furrowing in confusion. 

“I don’t move around as much as I probably should,” Nicky continued, shrugging. “But people are more interested in their phones nowadays than whether or not their neighbor is going gray.” 

_What?_ Nicky was leaving? “You can’t be serious,” Joe replied, standing up as well to face him. 

“You’ve seen some of the places that I’ve lived in, Joe,” Nicky answered, clearly not catching Joe’s tone. “I’ll head back to London and—”

“So what, that’s it?” Joe asked, throwing his hands in the air. “After everything that’s happened, you’re just going to leave me? _Again?”_

Nicky flinched, as if Joe had smacked him across the face. “Joe, I—”

“Is that really the best you can come up with?” he scoffed. “Are you going to even ask if I want you to leave?” 

“Would you even want me to stay?” replied Nicky. “After what I’ve done?” 

“Nicky, that was almost a millennium ago!” 

“And I haven’t learned a damn thing!” Nicky roared. “I went to Jerusalem and didn’t even think twice about it. They said jump, and I asked, ‘ _how high?’_ I was so blind, and I was glad to be!” He slapped his hands to his hips as he paced back and forth in front of Joe, agitated. “I didn’t know anything about what happened with Merrick, but I got myself involved anyway. And look how that turned out,” he added, laughing cruelly. “There's a trail of bodies littered all over Germany, who knows who else Cascade told about your immortality, the government is sniffing around for answers, and I just—,” he paused, grabbing at his hair, yanking on the strands tightly. “I have put you all in such risk. I am dangerous. I am a _threat.”_

_The king may be the weakest piece on the board, but he’s also the biggest threat. He's not meant to survive on his own, but the thought of surrounding himself with others and putting them at risk is even more dangerous in his eyes._

Joe shook his head, grabbing Nicky’s shoulders to stop him from moving. “You aren’t seriously comparing the two.” 

“Joe, I—”

“Do you regret what you did in Jerusalem?” 

“How could you ask me that?” Nicky answered hoarsely. “Of course I do. It is a stain on my soul that I will never be able to erase.” 

“And do you regret what you did at Merrick’s and Cascade?” 

Nicky paused then, his mouth widening, but no words came out. “No, you don’t,” Joe smiled, feeling more tears pool in the corner of his eyes. “No one told you to go. You went on your own, out of the goodness of your own heart,” he continued. “You were for us. You went for _me.”_

Nicky looked away, pulling away from Joe’s grasp. “I am not a good man, Joe,” Nicky sighed. “I’m just not.” 

“You are none of those things,” Joe whispered, shaking his head. 

“And how would you know?” Nicky replied viciously. “You don’t know me.” 

“No,” he replied, for both of them. _“You’re wrong.”_

“Joe—”

“No, you listen to me, now,” Joe snapped. “I know you. _I do,”_ he said firmly, when he saw Nicky open his mouth to argue. “I may not know everything, like how many siblings you had or when you were really born, but I know what matters. I know what’s in here.” He jabbed a finger right over Nicky’s chest. He could feel his heartbeat rear madly under his touch. 

“I know you leave your dinner scraps in the alleyways for stray animals because ‘ _they need to eat too, Joe!’._ I know that you would rather tear a strip from your own clothing to use as a bookmark than bend the page corner in a book. I know you carry treats for children in your vests when we go on jobs, ever since what happened in Brazil.” Each statement built in his heart, laying brick after brick, fortifying the love he held for the man in front of him. 

“I know that you are too proud to admit it, but you prefer tea to coffee. Even worse, you like the sweetness from a splash of milk; not that you would ever give any credit to the English,” Joe laughed wetly. “I know that you hated everything about dinner yesterday, but you still told Nile that it was the best thing you’d eaten all month anyway. I know that the reason I couldn't find you any earlier was because you were searching all over the city for a goddamn plum to give me. And I know that you will go back later this morning with money to pay for it, because you won’t be able to sleep until you do. I know that I’ve lied to you every day since we’ve met, and _still_ , you didn't hesitate to help me and our family when we needed it. I know that you woke up last night to see Booker, because after everything, you didn’t want him to be alone. I know,” he paused, gasping as more tears slipped down his cheeks. Nicky was crying now himself, lower lip trembling as he listened to Joe. “I know that you love me,” finished Joe. _I know, I know, I know._ “And I know you would never hurt me.” 

“Never,” Nicky sobbed. “I would never want to.” 

“Then _stay,”_ Joe pleaded. “Because I do not want you to leave. I would never want you to.” 

“I do not deserve you,” Nicky cried. 

“You deserve more than I could ever hope to give you,” Joe argued. He reached out for Nicky again, but this time was met with no resistance, and Nicky fell into his arms like he was always meant to be there. 

Nicky shook his head again but still curled in close to Joe when he bundled him in his arms. “Your heart is so full,” Joe whispered reverently. “It overflows, and you give and you give and you _give,_ but it never dries. I used to think that you would float away with how light you should be. But I see now that you are tethered by such pain and grief,” he continued. “I cannot take this burden away, as much as I’d like to, but I can help you shoulder it. Let me help you; let me stand by your side and walk with you.” 

Nicky nodded this time, his hand clenched tightly around Joe’s back. He was sure there would be marks there, if they wouldn’t heal immediately. He didn’t think he’d mind if they stayed. 

“I’m sorry,” Nicky moaned into his neck. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, _I’m sorry.”_

Joe clenched his eyes shut, tightening his hold on Nicky. He wanted to tell him that there was no need for his apologies. He knew this man. He knew that give himself over freely, again and again, if for only a small chance of leaving the world a better place. His heart ached and his soul cried for the broken man in his arms, the one that he loved with everything that he was. But he knew that wasn’t what Nicky needed to hear right now. “I know, my love,” Joe whispered. “I know.” 

Nicky let out another low sob and collapsed further into Joe’s arms. He wasn’t sure how long they’d stood there, Joe shielding Nicky from the rest of the world, holding him safe and close, as he grieved. When he did pull back, he stayed so close that Joe could still see the tear droplets that were gathered on Nicky’s eyelashes. He could count each of the stars reflected in Nicky’s eyes. 

His heart throbbed and a symphony swelled and crested inside him as he tilted his lips down to meet Nicky’s. It was no less desperate than when they’d kissed in Hamburg, but Nicky was nothing like he’d been in the warehouse. He relented under Joe’s touch immediately, bending to him like a sunflower does to the morning rays. He was shaking like a leaf in a storm, and he tasted like the sea, and Joe had never loved him more than he did in that moment. 

They were both so open and vulnerable after everything that had happened, but Joe still felt at his strongest. He was always his best, when he was with Nicky. 

“You must promise me one thing,” Joe said, as they broke apart. 

“Anything,” Nicky answered, his warm breath skating across Joe’s cheek. “I will give you anything you ask.” 

“Do not leave me again,” Joe answered, his hands digging into the small of Nicky's back. “And I’ll promise you the same.” _Never again,_ he thought. He thought of the promise he’d made while he left Nicky’s flat in London. _I will be yours. Because you are mine. You are all, and more._ At the time, he wasn’t sure what he was even promising; he only knew that he couldn’t ignore the way that Nicky had threaded into his life. But this? This was more than what he could have ever imagined. He could have this. _They_ could have this. “I think we’ve both waited long enough, don’t you think?” 

Nicky smiled at him, wide and dazzling, and it felt as if Joe had just taken his first breath. Joe tugged him close again and slotted their mouths together, feeling peace for the first time in a long while. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. So everything is horrible right now, but I hope this helps, if only just a little. 
> 
> There’s only one more chapter left, can you believe it? Y’all already know where we’re going.  
> S A L Z B U R G 
> 
> I pinky promise that it will be 100% fluff and happy times and that it won’t take me a month to write.  
> Thank you for being patient, please don’t hate me k bye


	12. Chapter 12

He woke to the morning rays kissing his back, a gentle breeze dancing across his skin. Nicky hummed softly, twisting his body to try and fit more in the patch of sunlight that had poked between the open curtains. His stomach growled quietly but Nicky ignored it, not ready to give up sleep quite yet, instead pushing his face further into his pillow. 

He could hear footsteps in the other room - _Joe’s footsteps -_ accompanied by soft hums and the occasional clinking of dishware. Nicky smiled, listening in as Joe bumbled his way around the kitchen. His smile only grew when he heard the distinct sound of paper crinkling in his hand as he stretched again, the same hand that had been threaded through Joe’s the night before. 

Nicky finally blinked his eyes open, peering down at the message in his hand. _Pirates?_ it said. Directly underneath it, the message continued with _Preferred type of fruit preserves?_ Nicky bit back a laugh, attempting to smooth out the creases in the note, finger tracing over Joe’s script fondly.

Joe’s notes had been an unforeseen addition to their relationship. But honestly, that was just par for the course with them. They’d started a little over a month ago, and had started because of, well, Nicky’s sleep schedule. 

Nicky had always been a light sleeper, but more so, he was a sporadic sleeper. He went to bed late and rose early, a schedule he’d kept for centuries. In his earlier days, it was a necessity. Traveling alone on the road was dangerous, regardless of whether or not he was immortal. Robbers and bandits were more than enough cause for concern. It didn’t matter if he couldn’t stay dead. Waking up bloodied and empty pocketed, with no way to catch up to his possessions was enough to ruin anyone’s day, let alone year. Centuries later, it was still ingrained in his head, and there had been countless nights spent wandering the abandoned streets of whatever city he was in currently thanks to his insomnia. 

Joe and the others had known about his odd hours; they hadn’t minded, as it usually ended up with Nicky happily taking first watch, and them still waking up to a fully cooked breakfast. Nicky had still apologized in advance to Joe about his restless sleeping; Joe had just shrugged, and since the man could probably sleep through a freight train blaring through their bedroom, Nicky had been satisfied. 

What had surprised the both of them was that upon their new sleeping arrangements - wrapped tightly in each other's arms - Nicky’s sleeping habits had started to evolve. At first it was written off as pure exhaustion. What had happened with Merrick and Cascade had clearly taken a toll on him both mentally and physically. After the discovery of his and Joe’s shared history, Nicky hadn’t felt like leaving their bed for days. So he hadn’t. His evenings were left for quiet reflection and falling asleep to the metronome of Joe’s steady breaths, and his mornings were spent with Joe pressed against his back, waking to sweet poetry whispered in his ears. 

As days went on, and Nicky’s mood improved, his time spent in bed still grew. Andy had commented with a knowing smirk that it wasn’t exhaustion, it was just Joe that was elongating his schedule. Nicky couldn’t exactly argue with her there. There was nothing quite like sleeping while being bracketed in Joe’s arms.

But then Nicky started sleeping in later than Joe. _Much later_. It seemed that Nicky's subconscious was more than satisfied knowing that Joe and the others were under the same roof as him, keeping watch over him as he slept. An unseen safety net, draped over him; one that he’d never had before. 

The notes had started briefly after that time. One morning, Nicky had slept in, _“catching up on centuries worth of sleep”,_ as Nile liked to say. Joe, being the romantic self that he was, took it upon himself to make Nicky a nice breakfast, complete with a new spread that both he and Andy had become particularly entranced with. Joe had slipped out quickly and quietly to get a fresh loaf of bread. Too quietly and far less quickly for Nicky’s tastes, as he’d woken to a still and silent house. 

Now, if Nicky had been in a different headspace, he would have remembered Nile groaning over dinner that Andy was taking her on a weekend camping trip to _“eat some squirrels or some shit”_ and would be gone by the time that he and Joe woke up. He also would have clocked the clear evidence of Joe’s presence in the kitchen, a half assembled meal sitting on a serving tray. Instead, his sleep-addled brain had stared at the empty rooms around him and had panicked. 

Joe had found him hours later, curled up in a ball in the bathtub. It had taken hours for Nicky to calm down. It had taken days before Joe felt comfortable leaving him in a room alone. It had taken weeks for both of them to get back to a good night’s sleep. 

When Nicky had finally started to sleep again, he’d tried to convince Joe that he was fine, as the man had taken up refusing to leave bed until Nicky had awoken, for fear of Nicky thinking he was alone again. It had taken quite a few conversations to get Joe to agree to get up at his usual time. _A trust exercise,_ Nicky had said. He would trust that Joe hadn’t left, and Joe would trust that Nicky would be fine on his own. 

Joe had agreed, and had left Nicky alone in bed the very next morning, but not without a little surprise. Nicky had woken up to a small note sitting on Joe’s pillow, _Sketching in the yard_ printed neatly on the sheet. Nicky had smiled, grabbing the note and hopping out of bed and over to the window that overlooked the yard. As promised, there was Joe, sitting in a lawn chair, head bent over his sketchbook. 

Nicky had grinned all the way down the stairs and out the door, until he was planted right in front of Joe. He’d kissed him in thanks, but told Joe it wasn’t necessary. Joe, of course, hadn’t listened, and Nicky had woken up to a new note ever since. They’d started innocently, just listing where Joe currently was, or what he was doing. _Going to pray,_ or, _went on a run with Nile._ Some had led to quite an exciting morning, if the _Taking a bath. Join me?_ note was to be remembered. 

But slowly, the notes started to get exploratory. Thoughts about what Joe wanted to have for dinner that day, or opinions on a new film Nile had forced them to watch. Mainly, though, they were questions about Nicky. What he liked, when his favorite times were, where he was during certain events over their lifetime. 

Those had warmed his heart the most, as he knew that they were just random questions Joe had thought of when he’d first woken up. He’d looked at Nicky, still snoozing next to him, and wondered about his thoughts on Pavarotti **,** if he’d ever worn a powdered wig, or whether or not he considered bell bottoms to have been worth the hype. 

Joe didn’t know this, but Nicky had kept each one. Every note since the first one is currently being housed in a small box back in Berlin. All the ones he’d collected since being in Salzburg were kept in a pocket of his travel bag, waiting to be reunited with the others. 

He wasn’t sure how Joe’s morning introspections had ended up on pirates, or how they related to fruit preservatives for that matter. Part of the joy of having these conversations with Joe was figuring out how he had gotten from one topic to the other, working backwards along the mental breadcrumb trail Joe had left. Joe had always been like that; always thinking at lightspeed, fluttering from one idea to the next like a bee buzzing around a garden. Nicky loved that about him, content to sit next to him and get a glimpse of how Joe sees the world. 

Nicky turned to lay on his back, relaxing more into the sun patch on the sheets, for which he also knew Joe was responsible. Joe had commented, just a few days after what had happened in Hamburg, how much he enjoyed Nicky’s predilection for pressing himself as close as humanly possible to Joe when they were together. Nicky had flushed, but didn’t comment that he thought that it was a desperate move by a touch starved man, just telling Joe that he liked being warm. Joe, of course, had taken the statement as his new quest, ensuring that Nicky was always tucked close to one of them, dressed in thickened clothing, or within arms reach of a blanket. It was most endearing, and if Nicky had baked under the scrutinizing ministrations, he certainly didn’t mention it. 

He almost did comment on it when they’d come to Salzburg. Joe had been adamant on picking out where they were staying; at first, Nicky had agreed without question, but then he’d caught Joe pouring over rentals with Nile after dinner one night. He’d tried to tell Joe that he shouldn’t worry too much about it, as he certainly wasn’t picky. As long as Joe was going to be there, he could care less where they were staying. Joe had argued that they needed a bedroom that faced east. 

_“Why?”_ he had asked. 

_“I know this is new information to all of us, but you actually enjoy sleeping, Nicky.”_

_“And?”_

_“And I don’t want you to wake up cold,”_ Joe had said. And that had been that. 

They’d been in Salzburg since the beginning of the week. How long they planned to stay remained to be seen. In fact, they hadn’t seen much of Salzburg since their arrival. The past few days had been spent in the confines of their rented apartment, part of it due to the worry of drawing attention to themselves, and the other relishing in the fact of being alone. 

The group, minus Booker, had dutifully laid low per Copley’s instructions. Like the man had predicted, the US and UK governments had done their best to sweep everything under the rug. The Cascade Corporation had already closed its doors, the plane crash had been chalked up to a technical failure, and what had happened in Hamburg had barely hit the papers before another news cycle had pushed it from everyone’s mind. Regardless, everyone was hesitant to ‘poke the bear’ so to speak, and had been more than happy to keep their heads down for a few months while the rest of the world forgot what happened. 

No one had been happier than Nicky. He swore that he was smiling before he even woke, his body already thrumming with bliss at another day filled with the rest of them. Waking up in Joe’s arms, trading war stories with Andy, cooking with Nile in the kitchen. He cherished each and every moment, even the concept of its repetitiveness. 

Memory is an interesting thing; Nicky’s was no different than anyone else’s. With all that he’s seen, there has been more than enough to forget. He’s probably lost full decades. But he knew he’d never forget these first few moments with his new family. He’d never forget the way Nile giggled with a smear of flour across her cheek as she told him about her mother; he’d never forget laughing about Shakespeare with a tipsy Andy on the roof. 

He’d never forget the way Joe had kissed him on that park bench in Berlin, wrapping him tightly in his arms. 

It wasn’t always easy, of course. There was still much to be learned, by all of them. This was the new normal for all of them. Everyone hovered over Andy and her mortality, much to her dissatisfaction. Nicky glowered at Copley until the man announced that he was heading back to London. Nile fluttered between all of them, trying to keep the ship running. Joe kept looking at him like he would disappear. 

They’d all snapped at each other eventually, only coming back moments later to lick their wounds. Nicky had struggled particularly, as he didn’t know how to operate in a group. That time in Berlin had been the longest he’d ever spent with them; the longest he’d spent with any others in recent memory. 

It was Nile, of course, that helped him get his head on straight. Who sat there and listened to his gripes and frustrations. _“Us newbies gotta stick together,”_ she had said. 

It took time, but they soon started to get into a rhythm, falling easily into step with one another. There were moments when Nicky wondered what it would feel like when Booker would return, but he left those thoughts for another day. The others weren’t quite ready yet. Days turned into weeks, which turned to months. Nicky had thought he would be happy enough to stay in Berlin for years, if he could stay with them. That being said, he thinks - selfishly, of course - that he is happier here. 

_He was reading outside when Joe found him. It was his preferred spot, basking in the warm sunlight as a soft breeze ruffled the pages he read. Nile had dragged him to a local shop a few days ago so he wouldn’t have to be constrained to reading the “dusty, moth-ridden tomes” the others had accumulated in their home. Nicky had laughed and followed her dutifully, deciding not to mention the properties of his own that were stacked with much older literature than this. He had just been happy to spend the morning with her._

_Reading had always been a constant for him, and it had saved him from the dark corners of his mind on more than one occasion. It had been a privilege when he was younger, but he was inordinately pleased to see it become a common pastime. He’s not too proud to admit that the content of books has gotten better exponentially. What pleased him the most, however, was knowing that for as old as he was, there were always new books to read. And, knowing that for as old as he was, and knowing the potential for how old he could become, there will always be more books out there than he could ever possibly read. It was a wildly thrilling thought._

_He could feel Joe’s eyes on him. Joe, being Joe, always tried to not interrupt him while he was reading, unless he deemed it absolutely necessary. He’d told Nicky that he’d never want to distract him from his enjoyment. It was heartachingly sweet, and another reason that was added to his laundry list of his love for the other man. What Joe didn’t know was that it was literally impossible for him not to steal Nicky’s attention. Nicky could clock Joe walking into the room the moment he did, and Nicky was forced to stare at his book, rereading the same lines over and over again, pretending like he wasn’t sitting there counting Joe’s breaths._

_He’d been stuck on this page far too long, but he couldn’t remember any of the information. Instead, he was wondering about what Joe was wearing. Then look, he reminded himself. These looks didn’t have to be secreted away anymore._

_Joe was haloed in sunlight, eyes bright and hair damp from a shower. He was wearing a shirt that Nicky hadn’t seen before, salmon colored with the sleeves cuffed and the top two buttons undone. Nicky made a note to make sure it was kept in the closet to be worn again._

_“Good book?” Joe asked._

_Nicky blinked down at the book, his mind blanking on what he’d spent the last few hours reading. Something about a pilot. It didn’t seem important, right now. Especially with Joe in front of him, with that smile and that shirt and - why has he not seen that shirt before?_

_“Remains to be seen,” Nicky smiled._

_Joe had nodded, but his gaze was years away. He bit his lip and rocked back on his heels._

_Nicky furrowed his brow. “Joe?”_

_“Andy wants to take Nile to Norway,” Joe replied. He tapped his fingers against his chest nervously. “She wants to get Nile started on survivalist training.”_

_Nicky frowned. “Nile’s a Marine. Surely she’s already had some.”_

_“Uh,” Joe said, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck. “I think she was thinking something a little more old fashioned.”_

_Ah, Nicky thought._

_“When do we leave?” Nicky asked, already closing his book. Knowing Andy, she was probably already in the car, hand hovering over the horn to get them to hurry up._

_“That’s the thing,” Joe trailed off again. He shifted between his feet. “You’ve been to Norway before,” Joe said. “Recently. We went together, remember?”_

_Nicky nodded, smiling fondly. He and Joe had spent some time traveling along the coast after the disastrous job in Stockholm. Booker had called it ‘Joe’s Apology Tour’, much to Joe’s chagrin. After Nicky’s near death experience - or death, in actuality, but the others didn’t know it at the time - Joe had been rather reluctant to part ways, feeling especially guilty for his outbursts towards Nicky. Nicky, of course, hadn’t minded one bit, and was just happy to spend some more time with Joe._

_“It can’t have changed too much, right?” Joe continued._

_Nicky tilted his head. “I suppose not. Why?”_

_Joe sighed. “I just…,” he paused, his face pinching as he tried to find the right words. It was strange, as usually Joe had those in abundance. “Do you want to go? To Norway?”_

_Nicky wasn’t really sure how to answer. Should he not want to go to Norway? His gaze flicked to the flat, and wondered if either Andy or Nile had sent Joe out here to talk to him. Did they not want him to go? Maybe they needed some space from him, and - oh. Nicky paused in his thoughts, looking back at Joe. He’d seen Joe wear this same face before, only once. Back at Nicky’s apartment in London, when Nicky had thought they were parting ways for a final time._

_“Do you want to go?” Nicky prodded gently, trying to bite back a smile._

_“It could be a good opportunity to teach Nile,” Joe answered slowly. Giving Nicky an out, like he always did._

_Nicky decided to take pity on him. “I don’t know, Joe. There are only so many ways to skin a deer,” Nicky shrugged. “I’m not too sure what we would be able to add by going with.”_

_Joe grinned at him suddenly, like he’d hung the moon himself. “My thoughts exactly. Andy didn’t want us to come anyway.”_

_“Where do you think we should go instead?” We, not you, Nicky thought. There was no one without the other anymore, not if Nicky had anything to say about it._

_Joe paused, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck nervously. “I was looking online and, uh, there’s this candy that I’d like to try. Mozartkugel. Have you had them before?”_

_Nicky shook his head, but smiled. He hadn’t had the pleasure of the treat, but he knew where they came from. “I hear they’re delicious.”_

_Joe reached his hand out and Nicky grabbed it immediately, letting Joe tug him from his seat. Nicky leaned into his warmth, knocking their foreheads together._

_“Come to Salzburg with me?” Joe’s whisper brushed over his cheek._

_Nicky beamed, and kissed him in response._

They’d left the next morning and had been here ever since. Nicky stretched out in the bed, a few of his joints cracking, before he sat up, swinging his feet to the floor. He stood, rubbing a hand over his eyes as he headed towards the general direction of Joe, Joe’s note still clutched in the other hand. 

He paused when he stumbled over a bundle of cloth. Nicky looked down and smiled, bending over to pick up Joe’s shirt and throwing it on. Unfortunately, he didn’t think that the pink coloring looked as good against his skin as it did on Joe’s, but it smelled like him, and that was enough for Nicky. 

Satisfied, he continued to make his trek towards the kitchen. 

His bare feet padded against the wooden floor softly, quite unlike the loud thuds of Joe’s in the next room. A few clangs of a utensil against a pan accompanied soon after, and Nicky’s heart clenched. It was another thing he’d caught wind of, starting a few weeks ago. 

The only reason he’d noticed anything was because of Nile’s training schedule. Andy was ruthless, frantic almost, in growing Nile’s education of her newfound immortality. It was clear that Andy was enamored with the new addition to the group - though in her defense, Nicky didn’t think anyone could be immune to Nile’s “spunk”, as she called it - and spent most of her time in Nile’s shadow. Teaching her anything and everything under the sun. Nicky liked to imagine a much younger Andy running through the same paces with Joe; she had told Nicky that she and Quynh had quite the time trying to wrangle him. 

But Nicky could tell that this time was different. Andy didn’t have centuries anymore to pass on her wisdom. She only had decades, if she was lucky. And while Nicky was sure that Andy was satisfied knowing that Nile would be looked after once she passed, there was a certain possessiveness - and bullheadedness - that screamed _“I’ll do it myself,”_ which was so Andy. 

Nicky was more than happy to let Andy take the lead. Over the time they had spent together after what had happened in Hamburg, Nicky could see the way her eyes had dimmed and her shoulders had slumped. Whether it was due to Booker, her mortality, or just the general pain that came with being as old as she was, Nicky wasn’t sure. He couldn’t imagine the weight she’s carried with her all these years. 

But when she was with Nile, she was lighter. It was like watching a match strike behind her eyes, a spark returning, if only for a second. Like Andy was staring at a younger, brighter, version of herself, being reminded of the joys that came along with the pain of their life. 

The similarities were strong. Nile gave as good as she got, if not more. She was eager, ravenous to learn, focusing her mindset on the potential of the future, taking each day with stride. She was already stronger than the rest of them; she probably always had been, even before they’d met. 

She soaked up Andy’s knowledge like a sponge, but absolutely put her foot down when it came to sparing with her. While Andy could definitely hold her own against Nile, Nile had turned down the risk of injuring Andy. Nicky hadn’t been able to help at all, as he had refused to pick up a blade since that day he’d sparred with Andy and Joe. Everything was still too raw, and he could barely stomach the thought feeling the weight of a sword in his hand. He’d tried it only once, and he couldn’t stop looking at the blade, half expecting Joe’s blood to be stained there. Joe had tried to step in for the rest of them, taking Nile’s weapon’s training solely on his shoulders. In the end, it hadn’t worked, as Andy ended up spending most of the time coaching Joe on how to coach Nile. 

It was Nile that had suggested something a little different, and honestly, Nicky had started to wonder how any of them had survived without Nile before this. 

_“Paintballing?”_ Andy had asked, skeptical. 

_“You’ll love it,”_ Nile replied, smile wide. _“And watch!”_ She’d shot Andy in the thigh, a spray of bright pink exploding against her leg. _“Think you can handle a few bruises?”_

Andy had grinned, already raising her weapon. 

They were out there the entire day, sometimes working in teams, others as just a free for all. It was grueling and messy, but the most fun Nicky had ever had in recent years. As much as he enjoyed running around the course with the others, he was just as happy to watch them from above, laughing as Nile chased circles around Joe and Andy. It was when he saw Joe on the course, that he first noticed it. He had been pitted against Andy, the two playing to see who would land the first hit. 

He had moved so quietly, that if Nicky hadn’t been tracking Joe’s movements with his own eyes, he’d have never known he was there. It was startling, as Joe had always been heavy footed, for as long as Nicky had known him. The thought had plagued him the rest of the day, until he’d finally asked Andy about it. Apparently, Joe was quite good at hiding in the shadows when he wanted to be, and had been their scout for jobs on more than one occasion. 

But not with Nicky. Joe had been loud with him for as long as he could remember. 

_“Why?”_ he had asked. 

_“You remember Shanghai?”_

Nicky had nodded. Shanghai was the first job that he had done with all three of them, Joe, Andy, and Booker. The job had been simple enough - for which he had been glad, as he hadn’t wanted to work with them - but it ended on a sour note. Nicky had been perched on the balcony of a hotel suite. Booker had slipped in to relieve him, but had forgotten to mention to Nicky that he would be doing so. Nicky had almost shot off Booker’s ear. He’d cursed him out for hours and vowed to never take a job with them again. 

_“You don’t like snuck up on. None of us do, really, but you hate it. Joe was pissed for days after that job, and made us promise not to surprise you again. Assuming that he could get you to work with us again.”_

Nicky had blanched at her. _“It was only because I didn’t trust you. I do, now. With everything.”_

Andy had smiled. _“I think it’s more than that, now. You don’t like to know where we all are because you don’t trust us; you like to know because you do trust us. Because we’re family. You like to know where all of your chicks are,”_ Andy had answered. _“You’re always watching over us. It keeps you in check. I just think that Joe’s making it a little easier for you.”_

Nicky had thought about that conversation for a long while. Had Joe really been doing that for him, all this time? _Yes._ It wasn’t hard to imagine; Joe was always thinking of others first. 

Another clank came from the kitchen. _“I’m here,”_ it said. _“You’re not alone.”_

Nicky stepped through the threshold of the kitchen, pausing for a moment to enjoy Joe bent over the stove. He was shirtless, his skin glowing in the morning sun, his muscles flexing as he stirred whatever he was cooking. 

Nicky walked towards him, feet padding loudly on the floor, answering Joe’s own noises, before pressing himself against the warm expanse of Joe’s back, curling into the heat like a sunflower. He hummed in satisfaction, his arms wrapping around Joe’s middle as he tried to bury his head between Joe’s shoulder blades. 

A calloused hand immediately covered his own, thumb rubbing over Nicky’s knuckles soothingly. “Good morning,” Joe said softly. His voice was deep and raspy, still coated in sleep as well. He hadn’t been up for too long. 

Nicky hummed again, pressing more tightly against Joe. 

“How did you sleep?” 

“Good.” _Perfect._

“It sure looked like it.” He could hear the smile in Joe’s voice. “The way you were clutching that pillow was certainly telling.” 

“Were you jealous?” 

“You were drooling all over it.” 

“That’s not a no,” Nicky countered. 

Joe chuckled and he spun around in Nicky’s grip. His skin was crinkled around his almond eyes as he smiled at Nicky. Nicky wanted to kiss the joy on his face. So he did. He leaned in and pressed their lips together, and he felt his own smile grow. He broke away to place a few fleeting kisses down Joe’s neck before tucking his face under his chin. 

“What are you making?” he asked, nuzzling into the hollow of Joe’s throat and dropping another kiss on his skin, breathing him in. 

“Nothing, if you keep doing that.” 

Nicky bit his lip, snorting quietly. He started to pull away but Joe’s hand carded through Nicky’s haid, tugging him back down. “I didn’t say you had to stop,” he continued. 

Nicky grinned and nipped lightly at Joe’s shoulder. “Sorry, my love, but I’m hungry.” 

Joe scoffed. “It’s good to know where your priorities lie,” he chuckled, his hand still rubbing at the base of Nicky’s skull. 

Nicky smiled and crinkled the note in his hand, showing it to Joe. “Ah, yes!” Joe exclaimed, patting his hand against Nicky’s in excitement. “Thank you for reminding me, we have so much to talk about.” 

Nicky rolled his eyes at how quickly Joe’s pout had gone and relented his hold on the other to help him bring their breakfast over to the table. 

It turned out that Joe’s inquisitions were purely innocent, as the man had been curious how much time, if any, Nicky had traveled by sea. Nicky was more than happy to spend their breakfast discussing his time spent on the water. He loved sailing, a love he had carried with him throughout his lifetime. 

He thought of the boy that had sat on the rocky shoreline in Genoa, trailing his finger along the horizon, promising to travel far and wide. While his life had turned out far from what he had expected, Nicky was glad he was able to keep one promise to his younger self. He had traveled far and wide; farther than most people ever had. Even as technology advanced, the thrill of the open water still made his heart pound with excitement. And no matter how many years had passed, the first smell of salted air of the sea always remained the same. The feeling of the ocean’s spray on his face remained the same, the feeling of the wind against his back remained the same, the cry of the gulls above his head remained the same. If he closed his eyes, it was like no time had passed, and he was still that little boy, sitting on those rocks. 

Joe’s history with the water was a bit more complicated. He’d grown up with the sea as well, and he had already regaled Nicky with many tales of growing up with a large family and his travels as a merchant when he had been younger. When Joe had first come to terms with his immortality, the adventure of the unknown had been tantalizing to him. Nicky liked to picture a much younger Joe, shedding his armored clothes for those of an explorer, vowing to hunt down and see all of the world’s beauty. 

Joe’s hunger for knowledge was one that Nicky cherished greatly, as it rivaled his own. After spending a lot of time together, both on and off the job, there was always something new that Joe was chasing after, often dragging Nicky along for the ride. They’d spent hours ambling through some of the world's greatest art museums, wasted days in university lecture halls, explored - and sometimes regretted - new fusion cuisine. Joe had even convinced him to do a zumba class once. 

There was a certain giddiness Nicky felt each morning, as they debated over a new topic they’d experienced over their lifetime, comparing their opinions and memories. 

Unfortunately, Joe’s time in the sea had taken a dark turn with Quynh. It was another event that had stained Joe’s memories, and Nicky wished nothing more than to be able to take the pain away. The others’ devotion to finding Quynh was electrifying and heartbreaking at the same time. Joe and Andy had spent countless decades on the ocean, searching for their lost family member, before admitting a devastating defeat. They had even picked it back up again after Booker joined them, before being called back to shore by World War I. Booker had been the one to keep them out for so long, frantic for some sort of purpose after losing the last of his blood relatives. After that, however, the group had been hesitant of the open ocean. 

“I feel guilty,” Joe said quietly, pushing the last of his breakfast across his plate. “I love the sea, I always have. It reminds me of home. After Quynh,” he broke off with a sigh. “It feels wrong to enjoy it.” 

Nicky nodded slowly, heart aching for a sister he’d never even met. “I don’t know much about her,” he answered. “But I don’t think she would want you to stop living your life.”

“Even after five hundred years of drowning?” Nicky didn’t have an answer for that. Even if he did, he wasn’t sure if Joe would want to hear it. 

“You two would get along like a house on fire,” Joe said, steering the conversation to safer territory.

“I think you are right,” Nicky smiled. “Andy has been telling me what a spitfire she was.” 

Joe hummed, but Nicky could see his face lighten, and that was enough for him. “Well, if you ever want to go,” he continued. “I would be more than happy to take you sailing. We could spend a few nights on the water, under the stars. Or we could go swimming. It doesn’t even have to see the ocean; there are plenty of wonderful lakes and waterfalls that we could explore.” He leaned across the table and squeezed Joe’s hand. “Whenever you wish, if at all. I will take you.” 

Joe smiled softly, squeezing Nicky’s hand right back. “Thank you,” he said. The way he answered made Nicky think that he never would ask. He knew he couldn’t take the burden of Quynh’s pain away. But it was just as Joe had promised him about The Crusades; he would do everything in his power to share the load. “I’m sure you have been to many beautiful places,” Joe continued, trying to change the subject. 

“And there are so many places left to go,” Nicky commented. “Did you know that I was reading about geothermal spas not too long ago? Have you ever been to one?” 

Joe shook his head, taking a drink from his glass. “Have you?” 

“No,” Nicky answered. “But I hear they’re quite lovely. Apparently there are ones in Iceland that you can see the Northern Lights from.” 

“It sounds stunning.” 

Nicky paused. “Maybe since we both haven’t gone, we could… we could go and do it together.” 

Joe looked at him, eyes calculating. But then they softened, and the man smiled. “I would like that, Nicolò.” 

Nicky grinned and practically skipped out of his seat and over to their coffee table. While Joe had his notes, Nicky had one of his own. 

Nile had suggested to them while they were still in Berlin that they put together a list of things they both hadn’t done, after a long night of Nicky lamenting to her on how much he’d missed out on experiencing for the first time with Joe. _A bucket list,_ she’d said. _Or potential date nights, whichever you prefer._

The list was short, but it was steadily growing, and that was enough to warm Nicky's heart. There was still so much they could do together. _Eons worth._ He quickly marked _spas in Iceland_ down before returning to Joe, the man watching him with a warm face. 

Nicky sat down gingerly, smiling back at him. He decided not to push any further; Joe had been more than accommodating with his traumas; Nicky would strive to do the same. He looked back on the table, where Joe’s note was still sitting. 

“Will you tell me how you got to fruit preserves from pirates?” he asked, nodding towards the note. 

Joe laughed, leaning back in his seat. “Well, it’s not as far as a leap as you would think.”

* * *

* * *

“What are you thinking about?” 

_You. Why would I think of anything else?_

Just the other morning, Nicky had awoken to Joe pressing searing kisses down his chest and had thought the exact same thing. _“To what do I owe this pleasure?”_ he had asked, his hand resting on the back of Joe’s head and threading his fingers through tight curls. 

Joe had looked up at him with a devious grin, biting his lip as he rested his chin against Nicky’s naval. _“Happy Birthday,”_ he smiled, cupping Nicky through the blankets. 

_“It’s not my birthday,”_ he had replied, arching into Joe’s touch anyway. 

_“How the hell do you know?”_ And then Joe had taken him in his mouth, and Nicky wondered why he’d bothered arguing in the first place. 

“You,” he finally answered, honestly. There was no reason to lie; Joe probably knew the answer already, anyway. 

He wasn’t sure what time it was, whether it was late or early. The sun had long gone down, and their bedroom was illuminated by a single lamp on their dresser. They were tangled together in the sheets, Nicky’s head pillowed on Joe’s chest. Neither had seemed like sleeping just yet, and they’d been idly chatting as the night went on. 

“Oh?” Joe’s voice was amused. “Something good?” 

_No._

“We’ve lost so much time,” Nicky whispered morosely, burrowing closer to Joe's chest. His heartbeat was steady in Nicky’s ear, as it always was. 

Joe’s hand came down to rest on his back, rubbing over his skin soothingly. “Mere moments compared to what stands in front of us,” Joe whispered back. 

Nicky hummed, but didn’t answer. He grabbed one of Joe’s hands, and interlaced it with his own. Over the course of their breakfast conversations, they’d spent a lot of time discussing their previous lifetimes. _Delicately,_ of course. The Crusades were still a massive red flag that loomed between them, but Nicky wasn’t too keen to talk about it so soon again. Joe didn’t seem to want to either. They both knew that they would need to discuss it eventually, but they had made an unspoken agreement to work backwards, retelling their lives starting from the current chapter first, working their way back from there to the beginning. 

It wasn’t all that surprising, the amount of times Nicky and Joe had almost met over the years. They both, as well as the others, followed the scent of turmoil wherever they went, doing what they could to help. Joe had commented that if life were a tapestry, it found many opportunities to bring the two of them together, braiding one tightly against the other, over the course of history. _Destiny,_ Joe had said. _Missed chances,_ Nicky had replied. He looked at the way his body moulded effortlessly against Joe’s. 

He quite preferred how they were intertwined now.

He shouldn't have said anything. This was dredging towards riskier territory that he wasn’t sure he was up for discussing yet. But somehow, those thoughts didn’t stop him. “I left you.” 

“Don’t think about it that way,” Joe comforted. “Every step you took, each one, brought you closer to me, right here.”

Nicky shook his head. “Why did I leave? Why didn’t I just wait a little more?” 

“Something tells me it wouldn’t have gone well if we’d crossed paths again so early,” Joe answered. 

“You don’t think we would have worked it out?” This was the thought that was plaguing him. So many ‘what-ifs’ running through his head; what would have happened if he’d found Joe again while in Jerusalem. He agrees that it would have been disastrous, and that was the problem. Maybe life had kept them apart because if they’d met sooner, they’d never be what they are now. 

“I didn’t say that,” Joe replied. He rubbed at Nicky’s back again. “I think it may have been a little harder, but I believe we were meant to be together. Nothing could have stopped it.” 

Nicky smiled at Joe’s conviction, placing a delicate kiss to Joe’s ribs. He let his attention drift to where he was still gripping Joe’s hand like a lifeline. He’d had, over the course of their friendship, spent many times deciding what he loved most about Joe. To be honest, the list was more horizontal, as he could never decide which he valued most, as every part of Joe was a treasure in itself. 

But always among the top contenders were his hands. How such strength could be conveyed with even the softest of touches. They were unwavering and steadfast, the perfect representation of Joe. Nicky liked the calluses littered on his palms, how they felt against his own skin.

His favorite part, however, was the small divot on the tip of Joe’s finger. A small dent created from continually holding a writing utensil. _An artist’s mark._ Nicky loved it so much because he knew the only reason why it was there was because the dent was there before Joe had died his first death. And Joe had carried it with him ever since. 

He rubbed his hand over the mark, feeling his finger slope with the divot. It was heartwarming to know that this part of Joe had been with him since the very beginning. _A man and his pen._

“If you think any harder, I fear you will give yourself a headache,” Joe chuckled, pulling Nicky away from his thoughts. He tilted his chin up to look at Joe. “Or worse, I will get one from worrying too much about you getting one.” 

Nicky grinned, his chin digging into Joe’s soft skin. “I will try not to think so hard.” 

“See that you do,” Joe answered, eyes crinkling. He paused, before adding, “You are not the only one who has had these thoughts. But they are just thoughts, Nicky. We cannot change them. And to be honest, I’m not sure that I would.” 

“You wouldn’t?” 

“Each moment that has passed has led me here, with you laying there and smiling up at me. I would not trade this moment for anything.” The hand on Nicky’s back curled around his neck. “Do I wish that I could have danced with you at Versailles? Or that I could have sat in the Colosseum with you? Maybe even been a pirate with you?” Joe smiled. “Of course I do. But there is no reason why I cannot do these things with you now. These chances were not missed. Just...delayed.” 

Nicky bit his tongue, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat. “I think you’re right,” he said. 

Joe shrugged. “First time for everything.” And then Nicky was laughing brightly, rolling around until both he and Joe were tangled in the bedsheets. He wiggled himself impossibly closer, and Nicky felt his brain finally start to slow down. 

“Sweet dreams,” he heard Joe say. 

“I will be dreaming of you as a pirate,” Nicky slurred. “I imagine they will be quite sweet.” 

He fell asleep to Joe’s rumbling laughter against his ear.

* * *

* * *

The crunch of gravel under feet was comforting, and the breeze was full of aromas from the perfectly manicured garden. The sun hung high in a cloudless sky, shining down on the crowded courtyard, saturating the brilliant colors around them. Tourists buzzed past the pair of them, chattering excitedly in a multitude of languages, munching on local treats or snapping pictures of the hilly backdrop. 

Nicky watched the scene in front of him with a small smile. He’d brought a book with him when Joe had suggested they spend the morning in the gardens, but it had yet to be opened. They’d been here a while, but Nicky still found himself enjoying the spot they’d snagged that morning, a bench in the far corner of the garden. People had come and gone, many of them passing right by him and Joe and not so much as giving them a second glance. Why would they? To them, Joe and Nicky were just two more people enjoying their morning outside, as they were. 

The normality of the situation was refreshing and addicting. Nicky wanted to capture this moment forever. 

His eyes shifted left, to the man that had captured his gaze for most of the morning. The garden was lovely, but it didn’t hold a candle to Joe. The man had also brought a book with him, but unlike Nicky, he’d been bent over it since they’d arrived, hand darting around the pages like a dance as he sketched. The sound of a pencil stretching against the paper adding to the symphony of chattering birds, bubbling water fountains, and joyous laughter. Nicky thought of the small divot in Joe’s finger again. 

“Tell me, Nicolò,” Joe said, pulling Nicky from his thoughts, his eyes never leaving his sketchpad. “Are the flowers here as beautiful as you remember?” 

“Of course. More so.” 

He saw Joe smile, shaking his head fondly. “You’re not even looking.” 

“How would you know?” 

Joe looked up and over at him, shooting Nicky an incredulous look. Nicky grinned back at him, shameless in knowing that he’d been caught staring. Joe tipped his head down so Nicky could see his sparkling eyes peek over his sunglasses. He was wearing a baseball cap, but had opted for glasses as well, because it wasn’t as if a ball cap was at all equipped with anything to block the sunlight. The look was so unequivocally Joe, but Nicky was quite fond of it as well. Mainly because of the little tuft of hair that peaked out above the backstrap. 

“You aren’t looking either,” Nicky pouted. Before Joe could stop him, Nicky grabbed the sketch book out of his hand. The familiar slope of his nose stared up at him from the page. Just underneath, a pair of lips were curled into a soft smile. Nicky wondered if he’d been wearing it since they’d sat down on the bench. 

Nicky looked back at Joe, the man looking just as unperturbed at getting caught. “When there is a flower that rivals your beauty, Nicolò, then I will draw it. Until then, there are no petals that compare to the sapphires stored in your eyes, no bloom that matches the radiance of your smile in the sunlight.” 

“You are an incurable romantic,” Nicky grinned. He leaned forward to kiss Joe’s clever lips, their noses knocking as he did so. 

“Oh, I will be nothing but ruthless for many years to come,” Joe laughed when they parted. “I have much to catch up on.”

Nicky’s heart fluttered in his chest. _Good,_ he thought. Joe had promised him eons, and it was one that Nicky vowed to help him keep. 

Joe tilted his face up towards the sky. “It seems the morning has gotten away from us,” he commented. Nicky couldn’t look away from Joe, more entranced by the angle of his jaw line. “I think I’d like to stretch my legs,” Joe continued, taking his sketchbook gently out of Nicky’s hand, packing it back into the satchel he’d brought with. 

He hopped to his feet, shooting Nicky a dazzling smile as he extended his hand. “Walk with me?” 

“Anywhere,” Nicky replied. 

Joe’s eyes softened. “Now who’s the romantic?” he asked, pulling Nicky to his feet. He brought their joined hands to his mouth and dropped a kiss to Nicky’s knuckles. 

They exited the garden and headed south towards the river, where Joe had seen street vendors lining the channel, selling their wares. The streets were crowded as midday approached, but Nicky didn't worry. People were milling all around them, but for the first time in his life, Nicky wanted to be seen. He wanted people to notice him. _He’s with me, and I’m with him._

They strolled idly along the river, picking through kiosks and tents filled with local goods. Regardless of the quality of work, Joe still managed to stop each of the vendors to compliment their products, and Nicky couldn’t keep the grin from his face. 

“Do you think Nile would like this?” Joe held up a small travel book titled, _Basic German for Beginners._

Nicky frowned, plucking it from Joe’s hand. “A textbook? I’m not so sure. Seems like less of a present, and more like work.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Don’t you think she has enough on her plate?” Nicky asked. “Between weapons training with you, survival training with Andy, corrected history lessons, and now another language?” 

“She was asking me last month to teach her some Arabic,” Joe replied. “Well, mainly just swear words, but I figured we had to start somewhere.” 

Nicky snorted. That sounded like Nile. But with everything else she had to learn, he didn’t want to overwhelm her. “Nile speaks Spanish already,” Nicky countered. 

“Conversational Spanish,” Joe retorted. “I brushed up on mine to talk to her about our last time in Madrid, and she told me where the bathroom was.” 

“She’s trying, Joe.”

“I know, and that’s the thing,” Joe laughed sadly. “She’s _trying_ so damn hard, and Nicky, I don’t know what to do! Is she so eager to learn because she wants to? Or because she thinks we want her to?” Joe pinched his nose, rubbing at the corner of his eyes. “I look at her, and all I see is Booker. What happened with him? Where did we do wrong?” 

“Oh, Joe,” Nicky said softly, 

“I don’t know if it is better to push her, to keep her busy, or let her figure things out on her own,” Joe sighed. “She’s already had to deal with so much, and she’s still so young. I thought maybe she wanted to be kept busy, so she wouldn’t have to think about… well, everything. But I just don’t know, Nicky. I don’t want her to do things because she thinks that’s what we want.” He paused again. “I want her to do things that she wants. I want her to live, to experience. There is still so much beauty to be found with a life such as ours, and I don’t want her to miss that like Booker did.” 

“This is an unprecedented time for all of us,” Nicky replied. “None of us really know what is the best path to choose. But whichever way we do choose to go, we’ll go together. You’ll have to trust that Nile will tell you when she is feeling lost.” 

“I just don’t want to fail her.” 

“You won’t.” 

Joe scoffed. “I don’t even know what she likes,” he pouted, waving the translation book in his hand before placing it back on the table. 

“We will learn,” Nicky smiled, patting Joe’s chest comfortingly. “Your heart is in the right place, and that’s all that matters. That is what Nile will see.” 

“So, book or no book?” 

Nicky furrowed his brow, looking back at the table. “I think if you were going to get her a language book, I’d get her something like this.” He swapped Joe’s book out for another one, this one on learning Hungarian. 

“Hungarian?” he asked, taking the book for Nicky. “I thought you wanted to make this easier for Nile.” 

“When was the last time you spoke Hungarian, if at all?” 

Joe hummed, frowning as he paged through some of the book. “I can’t remember ever speaking it. You?” 

Nicky shook his head. “I spent some time in Budapest, but not long enough to learn anything that was deemed passable.” 

“So, how is this helpful?” 

“Learning can be frustrating when you’re the only one doing it,” Nicky explained. “Especially when everyone around you already knows all the answers. If Nile is encouraged to learn a new language, don’t you think it would be nice if we chose one we could all learn together? It could be a bonding experience.”

Nicky blushed at the look Joe gave him. “You are so thoughtful,” Joe murmured, pressing a kiss to Nicky’s jawline. 

“You are not the only one who worries for her.” 

“I think it is an excellent idea. It will be good for us to broaden our horizons as well. Except for Andy, of course,” Joe chuckled. “I doubt there is much that she doesn’t already know.” 

Nicky sighed. “As always, Andy is the exception.” 

Joe hummed in response, but his gaze was already back on the book. Nicky rolled his eyes, about to tell Joe to just go ahead and buy it before he was interrupted. 

“Does it have to be Hungarian?” Joe asked. 

“Well, no, it was just an example. There are many languages out there.” 

Joe placed the book back in the kiosk, smiling politely at the shopkeeper before tugging Nicky to follow him. “Did you have another idea?” Nicky asked as they started to walk further down the street. 

“Maybe. My Icelandic is absolutely abysmal.” 

Nicky furrowed his brows. “Icelandic? Really?” 

Joe shrugged. “Why not?” 

“It’s cold in Iceland,” Nicky pouted. 

Joe stopped and let go of Nicky’s hand, grabbing at his hips instead. “Well, I happen to have it on good authority that there are some lovely geothermal spas in Iceland.” His grin sparkled in the sunlight, and Nicky’s heart pounded in his chest. “It might be something worth checking out.” 

Nicky laughed wildly, tears springing in the corner of his eyes. “Joe, if we’re going to learn a new language, it’s just as much for Nile than it is for us. We cannot force her to learn Icelandic so we can go on another holiday.” 

“Nile can come!” Joe argued, smile still plastered on his face. “There will be plenty of other things we could do together. We could take her hiking, or go whale watching together!” 

“Nile is probably freezing in a self made lean-to in Norway with Andy. You think she’s really going to agree to Iceland after that?” 

“I think Nile would go almost anywhere if we promised her insulated walls, a bed, and hot chocolate.” 

Nicky chuckled. “You make a good point.” He nudged Joe’s shoulder as the pair started to walk. “See? You do know what she likes.”

* * *

* * *

“Ya hayati?”

A snort. “No,” came the response. 

“Ya rohi?” 

“No, my mother did not name me as her soulmate.”

“Seems fitting to me.”

“You are not even trying.”

Nicky smiled, pausing in his movements. Joe’s hand was cradled in one of his own, Nicky’s fingers drawing unseen patterns in his skin, tracing each palm line, rubbing over each knuckle. Curling over the divot. He had his head hooked over Joe’s shoulder, the man leaning against his chest as they relaxed on their sofa. 

“I find myself getting distracted,” he answered honestly, kissing the juncture of Joe’s neck. 

He could feel Joe shake with quiet laughter. “You were able to guess mine so quickly, and you did not even have a hint,” he continued. 

“An educated guess,” Joe smiled. “Truth be told, I had back up lists with other names in case you told me it didn’t start with an ‘N’.” 

“You were very determined,” Nicky chuckled. 

“I was so desperate to know you. You were quite the enigma to me.”

Nicky thought of all the badgering questions Joe had asked him while they had sat in the mud in Venezuela, waiting for Booker and Andy to infiltrate the compound. That memory, and those harsher feelings of Joe, felt like decades ago. “As were you, no matter how annoying I thought you were at the time.” 

“You loved it when I first called you Nicolò.”

“I wanted to drown you in a mud puddle.” 

“You tell such sweet lies,” Joe responded, patting Nicky’s hand. “Now come, surely you have some actual guesses. I’ve given you a whole week to think about it.”

“What is wrong with the guesses I gave?” Nicky asked. “I thought they were founded options.” 

_“Nicky.”_

“Alright, alright,” Nicky smirked. “What about, uh, Yndið mítt?” 

Joe tilted his head back to look at Nicky. “What did you call me?” 

“I’m not sure I pronounced it right,” Nicky frowned, taking out his phone and bringing it in front of them. “You can’t trust some of these web pages.” 

Joe leaned in, pulling away from Nicky’s chest to look at the blog he’d scrolled through earlier. “Wait, is this Icelandic?” he asked. He turned to face Nicky, hands pinching around his sides. “You cheater! I thought we were going to learn with Nile!”

“I’m not cheating, I’m just simply getting ahead,” Nicky answered, squirming in Joe’s hold. He shoved halfheartedly at Joe, but let the man push him onto his back to rest against the couch cushions. “I thought it beneficial to learn some of the essentials before we go, so we’re not completely clueless.” He grinned up at Joe where he was leaning over Nicky, his weight resting on his elbows. 

“And let me guess, ‘my sweet’ is essential?” Joe chuckled, nodding at the translation on Nicky’s phone.

“I would say so,” Nicky replied softly, leaning up to catch Joe’s lips with his own. Joe hummed into the kiss, and Nicky could taste his smile. 

“You are ridiculous,” Joe said, when he pulled away. 

“You love me for it.” 

“I do.” Joe’s eyes crinkled in delight. He pecked the tip of Nicky’s nose. “You know why else I love you?” 

“Hm?” 

“Your competitiveness.” 

Nicky huffed. “I can think of a few occasions where you seemed less than pleased by it.” 

“Which is why I find it so interesting,” Joe smiled, ignoring Nicky’s comment, “that you seem unconcerned about finding out my birth name. I would have thought you would be ravenous at the attempt to guess it faster than I did with yours.” Joe pushed a hand through Nicky’s hair, fingers continuing down to curl around his jaw. “And yet you’ve wasted all your guesses. Why?” 

“I wouldn’t say wasted,” Nicky replied. 

“Surely you would love to know,” Joe continued. “But you seem to almost be putting it off. There is only one reason I can think of why you aren’t trying.” 

“And why is that?”

“Because you already know the answer,” Joe replied. “And you don’t know how to tell me that you already know.” 

Nicky stilled until Joe, and he saw the man grin as he caught him doing so. 

“Am I right, or am I right?” 

Nicky grimaced slightly, giving Joe a guilty look. “I fear I actually have done some cheating,” he said. “I do know it.” 

“How?” 

“When we were in Berlin,” Nicky sighed. “I was looking through some of the art you’d collected. There was a piece there, and I knew from the moment I laid eyes on it that it was your work. It was such a beautiful landscape.” Nicky smiled, picturing the framed canvas he’d held in his hands. 

He’d only seen Joe work with pencils before; considering almost all of their time spent together had been on a job, or traveling to and from, there was hardly the space or time for Joe to work with another medium. But the painting he’d found was absolutely stunning. Nicky could recognize Joe’s work with his eyes closed; he could just feel the paths of the delicately placed strokes and know it was his. Nicky wondered how long Joe had sat there, creating the flawless masterpiece. For as eager and vibrant as Joe usually was, Nicky knew that he could dedicate hours to a single line, probably more so to create the right color shade. When it came down to it, Joe’s patience rivaled his own. Joe didn’t know this yet, but Nicky had already found the nearest art shop, intending to buy anything and everything Joe would want to use. Nicky had always loved watching Joe work. Watching him stare at a black space, knowing his clever eyes could already see the picture that wasn’t there. 

“And?” Joe’s voice pulled him from his own thoughts. 

“You signed it.” Flowery script that had been scratched in the corner of the canvas. It had been just as beautiful as the rest of the painting. 

Joe blinked at him, and Nicky knew he was trying to remember the painting Nicky was talking about. “That doesn’t mean it was my birth name,” Joe replied. 

“I have watched you for many years, Joe,” said Nicky. “I’ve seen plenty of sketchbooks filled, napkins graffitied, and walls doodled on. And not once, did you ever sign a name. It makes sense that you wouldn’t, especially if you have been around lifetimes more than any other artist. You wouldn’t want to leave a paper trail. 

“But you did with this one. I think it was because you were very proud of it. I would be too; it is very beautiful, Joe,” Nicky continued. “But I also think it was because you made it for yourself. Most of your art, you make for others. You share it with the rest of the family, give them to the strangers that were your passing muse for the day, even leave them scattered around in public, just in the hope that it would bring a smile to someone’s face. But this one? No, this one was just for you. So you signed it.”

Joe looked away, fingers trailing along the collar of Nicky’s shirt. 

“Am I right? Did you sign your birth name?”

“You didn’t tell me,” Joe said instead. It was answer enough. 

“Your name is yours to give,” Nicky answered, poking Joe in the chest. “Just as mine was.” 

“Is that how you remember Venezuela?” Joe asked. “Because one could say that I cheated as well.” 

“There may have been some gentle prodding,” Nicky chuckled. “But I didn’t have to confirm that you were right. But I did. I wasn’t sure of the reason, but I knew I could trust you with it.” He smiled again, leaning into Joe’s hand that was still resting by his jaw. “Besides, I liked the way it sounded coming from your lips.” 

“Even though you wanted to drown me in a mud puddle?” Joe laughed. 

“I was going through a bit of a crisis,” Nicky admitted shyly. “I thought you such an infuriating man, but what was more infuriating, was that I could not get you out of my head. It took me a while to figure out why.” 

Joe snorted, leaning in to kiss Nicky. “And I am very glad that you did figure it out.” He knocked his nose against Nicky’s. “Will you tell me?” Joe asked. 

“Yusuf,” Nicky replied softly. He’d whispered it a few times when he’d caught a moment alone, forming the syllables slowly on his tongue. It was a beautiful name, fittingly so, and Nicky could only hope he could do it justice. 

Joe’s eyes fluttered shut, and his head flopped against Nicky’s shoulder. “Again?” he asked. 

Nicky snorted. “Yusuf.” 

Joe groaned then, low in his throat. He leaned up suddenly to capture Nicky’s lips with his, pressing deep into his mouth. Nicky met him effortlessly, hand threading through Joe’s softened curls. 

“Again,” said Joe. 

“Greedy,” Nicky smirked, flicking lightly at Joe’s nose. “If you’re lucky, you’ll hear it later tonight.” 

Joe ignored him, dipping a hand under Nicky's waistband, his touch teasing along the small of his back. 

“Joe.” 

“I’m not sure why I can’t be lucky right now,” came Joe’s muffled response, as he mouthed along Nicky’s collarbone. 

“We have dinner reservations,” Nicky argued. 

“Dinner reservations, he says,” Joe snorted. “You cannot say my name like that and then expect me to behave.” 

Nicky chuckled into a gasp as Joe bit down lightly on his skin. “I guess we don’t have to go tonight. There’s always tomorrow.”

“Now there’s an idea.” Nicky pulled Joe far enough away to claw his shirt off, his hands tracing greedily over flawless skin. Joe arched into his touch as he continued to kiss down Nicky’s chest. “But I’m not sure I’ll be able to get tomorrow to work; I don’t think I’ll be done yet,” he said, grinning up at Nicky. “And then it will be the weekend, and my schedule is already filled.”

Nicky huffed, trying to wiggle out of his pants. “You seem like a busy man.” 

“Oh, I am. In fact, the more I think about it, I believe I’m booked through the end of the month,” Joe replied. “I don’t plan on moving for a long while.” 

“Not even to the bed?” 

“No, that’s not until next month.” 

Nicky laughed brightly. “You are ridiculous.” 

“You love me for it.” 

Nicky’s heart hammered in his chest. He grabbed Joe’s face, bracketing it with his hands. “I do.” he promised. “I love you, Yusuf.” 

Joe looked down at him with a look so precious, he itched for just a sliver of Joe’s talent, in order to capture that face forever. “And I, you.” Joe’s answering smile was brighter than the sun on it’s hottest day. Then, it turned positively smoldering and Nicky had no warning before Joe was on him again, their bodies intertwining as one. 

Nicky threw his head back and sighed. _“Yusuf.”_

* * *

* * *

“What do you want to do tomorrow?” 

Nicky looked down at the potted plant in his hand, fingers rubbing idly at one of the curling leaves. It was brittle under his touch; the plant was dying. He couldn’t remember the last time it had been watered; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d thought about the need to water it. It was a surprising reminder that time was passing; to Nicky, it still left as if he’d first arrived in Salzburg. 

_How long had they been there?_

Nicky smiled to himself. To be honest, he was more than happy to not to know or care about the answer. 

“Nicky?” 

Nicky hummed in response, placing the plant down to look at Joe. He was leaning against the door jam of the balcony, arms crossed as he watched Nicky with a fond expression. “Did you have something you wanted to do?” Nicky asked. Over the course of their stay, the pair had explored every nook and cranny of the city, even more thoroughly exploring the layout and furniture of their rented flat. 

_Rented for not much longer,_ Nicky thought with a smile. A few days ago, Nicky had woken to a note from Joe asking if he wanted to update the kitchen after they purchased the property. Nicky had answered in the only way he could, by pressing Joe up against cabinets to see if they held. Miraculously, they had. 

“No, I can’t think of anything.” 

Somehow, that made Nicky smile even more. They had nothing to do, and he was glad for it. How many centuries had he shuddered at the simple concept of a night off, alone with his thoughts? Now, Nicky was loath to even think about breaking the bubble they’d formed around themselves since they’d gotten there. He missed the others, of course, but each day was still so new to him, and he was alright with feeding his addiction for a while longer. 

“Then let us relax and do nothing,” Nicky decided, walking towards Joe. 

“Nothing, huh?” Joe reached out and pulled Nicky close. “I think I can swing it.” 

Nicky huffed. He made to step around Joe and back into the house, but he was stopped, Joe grabbing his hip lightly. 

“I have something for you,” he said. 

“Oh?” Nicky asked. “Pray tell, what strange holiday have you discovered this time?” 

“None,” Joe laughed. “I mean, there probably is one, but I didn’t go looking. This isn’t necessarily a gift for today; it’s for whenever you want it.” 

“What is it?” Nicky asked curiously. 

“I spoke to Copley the other day. He had to do some digging around for you, to see if there were any loose threads that he had to take care of to keep you out of history’s records.” 

“I see,” Nicky replied slowly, his brow furrowing. “What did he find?” 

“Not much,” Joe replied. “It seems you were always good at hiding.” 

Nicky wasn’t surprised that Copley hadn’t been able to find much. They’d already discussed it months ago back in Berlin. “Well, I’ll make sure to let him know that I am thankful for cleaning up after me.” 

“He sent me a copy of everything he found,” Joe continued, holding up a small flash drive. “I haven’t looked at it, of course. I just thought that maybe you’d like to.” 

“Me?” Nicky asked. “I know what I’ve done, Joe. I was there when it happened,” he tried to joke.

Joe frowned, rubbing at the back of his head. “I can get frustrated sometimes when painting. It is hard to get rid of something I see as a mistake.”

Nicky blinked at the other man. “Joe, what are you talking about?” 

“Just hear me out,” he answered, holding his hands out to stop Nicky. “I can always paint over it, but I’ll always know that it’s there. But when I try and fix it, sometimes I feel like it ends up worse than if I had just left it alone.” 

Joe clearly wasn’t talking about painting. Nicky’s chest tightened, but he kept quiet, waiting for Joe to find the rest of the words he was looking for. “If I look at that one spot by itself, I see a mistake. I see a _stain.”_

Nicky froze. “Joe.”

“Sometimes I forget that I need to step back, and look at the whole picture. While that one part looks wrong on it’s own, it still adds value to the rest of the painting. If anything, it makes the rest of it that much more beautiful.” 

“If you want to say something, Joe, just go ahead and tell me.” 

Joe sighed. “When we were in London, Copley showed us our files. Everything that he showed me, I remember, but seeing everything he’d collected together in one place, it was like seeing it in a new light,” he explained. “Every job that we take, everything we do to try and help, it stacks up like dominos. The good becomes _exponential,_ as Copley said. 

“I do not need to see what is on here,” Joe said, waving the flash drive in his hand. “I do not need to see, because I already know what I will find. You have such good in you, and you’ve shared it all with the world, tenfold. And you did it all on your own. You are so strong, my heart. I know what is in here,” he continued, placing a hand on Nicky’s chest. “And I know who you are.” He paused, looking at Nicky with sad eyes. “But I do not think that you know this.” 

“Joe, I—”

“You do not need to look at it tonight, or anytime soon,” Joe placated. “We can put it in a box for a rainy day for many years down the road. But I think it’s important that you know that it’s there, waiting for you.” He leaned in and kissed Nicky soundly, and Nicky was helpless to respond, even after feeling the wetness of Joe’s cheeks. 

When they parted, Joe said, “I can only hope that one day you will see yourself the way that I do. A beautiful painting. Every stroke, every color. _Each one_.” 

Nicky clenched his eyes shut, turning his head away from Joe as he bit back fresh tears. He wasn’t sure what to say, if there was anything he could say that could convey what he wanted to Joe. Instead, he just reached out and gingerly grabbed the flash drive, curling his hand around it. 

Joe beamed, kissing him again in response. “Thank you for telling me,” Nicky said softly. 

“Of course.” The pair stood in silence for a moment, before Joe continued. “I think I’m going to head to bed,” he said, changing the subject. Nicky was happy for it. “I have, after all, a long day of doing nothing tomorrow.” 

Nicky nodded, snorting softly as he slipped the flash drive into his pocket. It felt like it weighed a ton. Joe was giving him an out, letting him know that he could have some time alone if needed, but Nicky wanted to be anywhere but alone. He trailed after Joe like a lost puppy into their bedroom, watching as his love slipped into bed. 

He turned to look back at Nicky, giving him a fond smile, already knowing what Nicky wanted before he could even ask. He turned more of the covers back, gesturing to Nicky. 

“Stay with me?” he asked. 

“Always.” Nicky stumbled out of his clothes and over to Joe, curling into his chest. Joe engulfed him, his body thrumming in satisfaction. _Always,_ he promised again. _For eons. Forever._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're here! We made it! 
> 
> I cannot thank each and every one of you enough, for all the love and support that I've gotten over the course of writing this. It was such a pleasure, and I'm glad that I could share it with you. 
> 
> That being said, this fic has such a special place in my heart, and I doubt that I'm done with it. If you want to see anything else (fluff, smut, angst, anything!) just let me know! I'd love to hear what you think. 
> 
> As always, no chapter would be complete without some fun facts that I force you to read:  
> \- Nile’s secret to Joe about her pants falling down in church (Chapter 5) actually happened. Hi, I’m Nile. Me and my relationship with God has never recovered.  
> \- I spent about three full days panicking over Chapter 11 because I thought that I had seen some of the sentences I had written for it before, and was CONVINCED that I was plagiarizing. After a few days worth of research, I realized that I had seen them before. In a fic that I had written a few years earlier. I will be seeing myself in court. #SelfPlagiarism  
> \- I’m a SLUT for Mozart Balls. I went to Salzburg on vacation a few years ago (it’s absolutely stunning and romantic and quaint, and is 1000% why it was chosen for Joe & Nicky) and I ate my weight in them. I will sell my first born for more.  
> \- You cannot convince me that Joe and Nicky didn’t go on a full Sound of Music tour while in Salzburg.  
> \- You also cannot convince me that Sound of Music is not one of Booker’s favorite movies.  
> \- I can finally confirm that all the flashbacks are Nicky meeting the rest of the team. He met Joe in Jerusalem (obviously), Andy and Quynh saved him from the harbor fire in Genoa, and he cut Booker down from the tree in Russia and took his coat. Hence why he never dreamed of them, except for Nile, who he didn’t meet until after Merrick’s.  
> \- This fic was originally supposed to be 10K words. Will someone teach me how to write a one-shot? 
> 
> Again, thank you so much for all the love. If you want to come scream into the void with me about this fic, the movie, or just life in general, you can find me here:  
> [Tumblr](https://just-another-tinker.tumblr.com/)  
> Discord: just_another_tinker#3201
> 
> -JAT


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